


The First Decree

by ThroneofMist



Series: History is Dead and Gone [3]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Addiction, Established Relationship, Gen, I love Schlatt and I will hear no ill of him stg, Major character death - Freeform, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sapnap better show up soon doe I miss writing my pyro guy, Schlatt and Quackity's fights are genuinely so well done in the streams shit man, Wilbur...my guy...why, angst? depends on where the streamers take this storyline lmao im just here for the ride, another war bhoys, apart from techno I mean he just got here, but had to do it to em, dream and George reconcile boys they are back, found family type beat, ik i am sad too, ill tag more later as this progresses, last war left everyone a bit fucked up, looks like this is a series now, me making up lore? yes that would be correct, no ones gonna read this from the start but if you are I applaud you, not me crying while writing the last chapter, ooc we turned up characterisation to the max, pogtopia is such an ugly name but we stan, revolutions really get me going, tws - mention of drug and alcohol abuse - graphic violence - death - mental manipulation, y'all seeing the word count on this shit lmfaao im so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:13:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 34
Words: 129,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26645044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThroneofMist/pseuds/ThroneofMist
Summary: Dream held up his hands in defeat as Tommy pushed the blade into his throat further, a single drop of red bursting from, dripping onto the netherite. Before he could end it, before he could just move his fingers an inch to the left and have Dream take his final breath, choking on his own goddamn blood, the older man spoke.“Tell Wilbur I need to talk to him.”Aka: writing about block men having political battles way too intensely was fun and so I have made it a series
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Dave | Technoblade, Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: History is Dead and Gone [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937527
Comments: 585
Kudos: 816





	1. Yes Sir

**Author's Note:**

> oooh baby we are back
> 
> just a lil reminder cause some people are being insane on Twitter lmfao that this is literally all a bit. It's not real, everyone on the server are mates pls don't take this seriously that is annoying for literally everyone. I saw that people were sending shit to Schlatt and Quackity don't do that lmao that is very weirdchamp, and if anyone leaves any comments like that here ill be popping off because Schlatt is fucking hilarious and I watched him way before any of the other lads. Ok sorry for that long ass note but I feel like it had to be said, don't get their online personas confused with the real people :) (and also just don't be a dick)
> 
> also sorry this first chapter is short but the next chapter will be usual length and should be up tomorrow :)

Streaks of red painted the light sky, hanging loosely, threatening to bleed down onto the ground. Orange light streamed down from the rising sun, basking the land in front of him. It was like the earth below him was glowing.

The rays of sun set laughing shadows dancing across the ruins of the once almighty walls of L’Manberg.

Schlatt kissed his teeth, hands casually slung around his belt loops as he looked upon his new country. Manberg. Renamed with the sole intent to terrorise the men who had built the country brick by brick. And now it was his.

Rolling on the balls of his feet, the man grinned, eyes darting over the numerous buildings that littered the landscape. From banishment to this. Power tight in his hand. All he had to do was clench his fingers, and people would crumble. Chaos would ensue, wreaking havoc through the form of Quackity at his side; through the whir of George’s arrows; through the crumbling trust of Fundy and his former family. Ah, the mere thought of it all was enough to send a grin across his face.

He'd even _told_ them. They had no reason to be surprised by this. He’d warned them this would happen. As soon as he’d been banished, he’d just shrugged, telling them he’d be back. Wherever Schlatt walked, the simpering snarls of chaos followed, dancing around his legs.

And he’d brought it to L’Manberg.

It was so beautiful. The pure unrelenting anarchy. The unbending power he’d stolen, right from Wilbur’s naïve hands. And they had fed right into it. Niki with her soft screams of protest. Eret, with his sly, lying smirk as the choice of which side to beg to screamed across his face. Wilbur with his anger, fiery and hot, lava filling up the man’s chest. And then there was Tommy.

Tommy with his wavering voice and shuddering jaw. Tommy, who blindly believed everything would always work out for him.

They’d fed into the chaos willingly, without even realising Schlatt was just tugging on their strings, chucking softly as they jerked their arms when he tugged. Always a step ahead. He’d _known_ Wilbur would call upon Techno. Of course, he would. He was all alone, exiled with just a child by his side. What else was he going to do? But Technoblade, while loyal, was terrifyingly nonchalant about almost everything. He had nothing to lose.

And Wilbur and Tommy had already lost everything they had. Apart from each other. They’d lost their land, their status, and their family. Apart from they hadn’t lost that last part. Schlatt wasn’t an idiot, he knew Tubbo would try and betray him. But you can’t betray someone who doesn’t trust you already.

Schlatt was merely playing with Tubbo right now, giving the boy straws as he watched him tremble. All he really wanted was to see him crack. To see everyone, _crack_. And he was already basking in the chips that were forming, running down faces of porcelain as walls fell. Splintering fingers of glass as Techno joined the game and screams of fear and awe broke out around him.

Schlatt stood, watching his land, and grinned. This was going to be fun.


	2. Fall Into the Dead of Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wheels of justice gind slow but grind fine."
> 
> Tommy and Wilbur run for their lives, and for each other.

one week earlier

Tommy hated running.

It wasn’t something he’d ever really enjoyed, perse. But then the war had happened, and it had felt like he did nothing but run, chest rising and falling painfully, muscles in his legs screaming out with every heavy step. And then Dream had fucking shot him in the leg, and while he could still walk, it was laboured by a limp.

And so, when Wilbur caught his wrist, everyone crowding around Tommy with terrifying leers, arrows aimed at his throat, and tugged, ordering the younger boy to _run -_ the first thought that came to Tommy’s head was; _fucking hell, not again._

Which looking back, was definitely not the correct response to _that_ situation. When all his former friends stood, blades raised to kill. But Tommy couldn’t help the feeling of déjà vu in his head as he’d downed the potion of invisibility and fucking legged it. As he turned the corner, L’Manberg wall to his left, desperately ignoring the ache in his fucked leg as he ran, just shouting Wilbur’s name over and over again, unable to say anything else.

He was there again, surrounded by a tyrant who wanted him dead, wanted to slowly drag everything he loved away from him. And this time it was just him and Wilbur. Just him and the man he now looked to as a brother, fucking running again.

And then Wilbur drunk a potion too, fading into nothingness as the effect took hold. And then everyone caught up with them, scanning the area as their holds around their weapons tightened. And then Tommy wrapped his arms around himself, holding his breath as his friends craned their legs looking for him, looking for their prey.

He knew George, Dream, Sapnap and Bad sometimes had manhunts for fun, where they’d chase each other through acres of land, blades poised to almost kill. Tommy had always wondered what that was like, when he watched Dream appear after one of their games, a wild, gleaming smile plastered on his face. But now he knew, as everyone stalked where he’d last been, where they didn’t know he still _was_. And he didn’t understand why anyone would ever enjoy this.

As he stumbled into L’Manberg, panting and praying to fucking anything that the potion effect would keep hanging on, he heard the horrible whizz of an arrow. And when he heard the heart-wrenching yelp of pain, he knew it had hit its mark. He spun, eyes widening in horror as he watched a seemingly stuck in the air arrow twitch slightly. Punz was standing close, bow in his hand, as he smirked, eyes flickering to where the arrow hung in mid-air. But before he could say anything, Wilbur ripped the arrow out of himself, and Tommy watched as it was thrown to the ground.

Tommy held back choked sobs as he scrambled into Tubbo’s bunker that his friend had shown him mere hours before. Hands gripped his hair as he practically fell down each step, legs barking out in protest. He could still hear Schlatt on the mic, his deep, gravelly voice piercing his ears. “It was so easy,” the voice laughed. It sounded like a gunshot, grating Tommy’s head.

“Until further notice,” the voice declared. “Wilbur Soot and Tommy Innit are merely a memory of L’Manberg.”

It was that that threatened to send Tommy spiralling. He could feel the maddening stuffiness behind his eyes, threatening to betray him as he sprinted down the stairs, checking over his shoulder every two seconds, paranoia eating at his skin.

“A relic of the past.”

What were they going to do? That was their home. L’Manberg was their home. They had built it themselves, every single brick placed by their own calloused hands. And they’d given Schlatt the right to rip it away from them.

“A reminder of the darkest era this country has ever seen.”

Schlatt was tainting their history. He was ripping the history books up with each damming word, rewriting everything that had happened with each smirk.

“I guarantee you all, dear citizens, tonight, that changes.”

Tommy fell to his knees, hands scraping against the wooden stairs as he tumbled. He didn’t cry out, in fear of anyone hearing him, so he just screwed his eyes shut and bit his tongue, letting himself fall right to the very end of the staircase. And there he stayed, curling up into a ball as he slammed his heads into his knees, trying desperately to drone out Schlatt’s voice, and everyone’s cheers.

“We are entering into a new period of L’Manberg. A period of prosperity. Of strength. Of unity.”

Tommy shook his head, fingers digging into his legs. Schlatt’s voice leered in his ears. It was worse than before. Worse than Dream’s lazy drawl. This was atrocious. A commanding voice, leering and smirking cruelly. Amusement coating every word.

“Why is no one saying ‘yes sir’?” Even though Tommy wasn’t where Schlatt was speaking, even though he was hidden in the bunker, even his head rose at the coldness in the man’s voice at that. But then the chorus of yes sirs that followed threatened to undo the young boy as he bit his cheek, sitting knees to his chest at the bottom of the dark and leering staircase.

Fundy. Eret. George. Quackity.

They all laughed, voices ringing out as they echoed Schlatt. Claps rung out like bullets, and the satisfaction in Schlatt’s voice was like a death knell. “Can we give it up for no more Wilbur Soot and Tommy Innit!”

It was a bad dream. This was fine, Tommy always had these dreams. At least once a week, he would wake up screaming in a pool of his own sweat, convinced he was back, trapped in the war. This was just like one of those times. He’d wake up. And he’d be safe, and Tubbo would be there, and everything would be fine.

When Schlatt had started saying Tubbo’s name, Tommy thought it was all in his head. Some twisted manifestation of the sickness in the pit of his stomach. But then Tubbo had replied, voice from the microphone on the main stage echoing all around L’Manberg. And when his friend had shouted desperately, I do want the job, Tommy had pushed himself to his feet.

As his brother’s voice rang out around him, Schlatt’s jarring laugh harmonising with it, Tommy had snatched down a pickaxe hanging up in the bunker and started mining. With each metallic word that sounded from the microphone, Tommy swung, growling as he made his way out.

When he broke free, rocks crumbling from his pick, Tommy found himself at the bottom of a lake. Holding his breath, he let the axe fall from his fingers as the water immediately smashed against him, flooding into the passage he’d carved. He kicked up, muscles straining as he swam. The only thought he could catch onto was that at least he didn’t have to listen to his friend stab him in the back as he swam to the surface.

When he reached the top, he took in shaky breaths, treading water for a moment. He just needed a minute. Just a minute. When he felt a hand on his shoulder, panic gripped at him, and Tommy thrashed, hands clenched into fists, ready to fucking drown someone. But it was just Wilbur, looking completely defeated in his ripped and stained L’Manberg uniform.

His hat was missing, hair damp from the sea. His eyes were painted in tiredness, lips tucked into a frown. The two men just clung onto each other’s arms as they stayed afloat, breathing in and out. It was just them now.

Schlatt’s voice broke Tommy out of his reverie, and he silently gestured to Will to follow him. The older man didn’t protest, just wordlessly nodded as the two of them swam to shore.

“Tubbo, as my secretary of state, as my right hand man. I need you to do something for me, Tubbo.” Schlatt’s voice was soft, welcoming. And as Tommy stumbled towards the tower, clambering up the ladder to the top rung by rung, he felt like throwing up. Tubbo had picked the other side. Tommy absentmindedly wondered what would become of their little brick house with their tulips as he reached the top, leaning over the railing to watch the nightmare in front of him unfold.

“What, Mr President?”

Tears stung at Tommy’s eyes as his fingers tightened around the railing, watching helplessly as Schlatt placed a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder. “I need you to find Tommy.”

A strangled sound choked its way out of Tommy’s throat as his knees buckled, the only thing holding him up his hold on the rail. “And I need you to show him the door.”

Tommy watched as Tubbo made his way from the stage wordlessly, nodding once to Schlatt. He shook his head, didn’t stop shaking his head as he dropped to his knees, head in his hands. He felt Wilbur come up behind him, but the older man was silent as he looked out towards the podium.

“Rumour has it he’s somewhere around,” Schlatt’s voice boomed. “Perhaps on top of a building, maybe.”

That made Tommy look up, and he wiped at his eyes with the back of his hands before he came up behind Will. The three men on the stage were looking straight up at them, grins adorning each of their faces.

“We’ve got to go,” Tommy said, voice shaking as he tugged on Will’s sleeve. Wilbur just nodded and followed Tommy to the side of the tower. Tommy clambered with his spare bucket of water before he leapt off, Wilbur right behind. Tommy emptied the bucket before they landed, saving them from snapping their legs in half. Throat dry, he checked over his shoulder to see everyone scouring the bottom of the tower. Looking for them.

His eyes fell on Tubbo, and Tommy had never wanted to smash something as much as he did at that point in time. But Will squeezed his shoulder lightly, and Tommy just nodded, starting to jog as him and his president ran away from their family.

As they made their way through the forest, Tommy realised that he had no idea where they were even running to. And he was pretty sure Will didn’t either. He just kept moving quickly, one foot in front of the other, terrified of having an arrow find its way buried into his back.

He was so occupied with his thoughts that he didn’t even realise they’d been found until Will’s outstretched arm stopped him in his tracks. As soon as his eyes fell on Eret, Tommy’s burning emptiness was drowned out by a screaming rage.

“Gentlemen, I believe I could provide you sanctuary.” Tommy’s lips curled, and he unsheathed the sword that sat at his side. To his dismay, Eret didn’t even flinch as he aimed it at the taller man. And to his surprise, Will didn’t order him to put it away.

“How fucking dare you!” Tommy yelled, voice tight and aching.

“You have been betrayed; I could _help_ you.” Eret was a very good liar. If he hadn’t tricked Tommy once, he probably would’ve believed the crack in Eret’s voice. Probably would’ve believed he genuinely wanted to help.

“We know we’ve been fucking betrayed,” Will hissed. “Of all of the people-” he cut himself off, clicking his tongue as he shook his head. Tommy could hear his own thudding heartbeat in his head. His fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword were trembling furiously.

“Eret, I’m sorry, I know you mean well but…” Will trailed off, shrugging sadly as if to say, _well, you know_. And Eret seemed to understand, as he nodded his head and threw the two exiles a wistful smile. He didn’t stop them as they walked past, Tommy still armed with his blade as he followed Wilbur deeper into the woods.

“Why would Tubbo not come with us, Wilbur?” Tommy asked, finding his voice enough to speak as they leaned against a tree, catching their breath and their thoughts. “Wilbur?” Tommy pressed when the older man didn’t respond. He was slumped against the trunk, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed shut.

“I don’t know, Tommy!” Tommy blinked at the anger in Will’s voice, taking a step back instinctively. But then Will’s face softened, eyes wide with surprise at his own tone, and he shook his head, wrapping his arms around himself as he shrugged. “I don’t know, Tommy,” he repeated. “I didn’t-I didn’t expect this to happen.”

Tommy didn’t know what to say to that, so he just nodded, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. Night had fallen, and the only thing lighting his surroundings enough for Tommy to see was the moonlight streaming in through the trees.

“Did you hear my son?” Tommy looked up to see Wilbur staring up at the sky, jaw clenched tightly. “ _Cheering_ ,” he breathed, as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

“Did you hear Tubbo?” Tommy asked, biting his bottom lip. Wilbur hummed sadly before he pushed himself up off of the tree. Tommy sighed, getting ready to run again, but Wilbur didn’t start off in the other direction. Instead, the older man just tugged Tommy against his chest, arms tight around him. Tommy paused for a moment before he returned the hug, burying his face in Wilbur’s coat as angry tears escaped his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Tommy’s muffled voice said as he gripped onto the back of Will’s damp coat. “We’ll be okay, Will.”

He didn’t even believe it as he spoke, words disappearing into the night as the forest’s whispers kept the two men hidden from their new enemies. Their only ally the trees surrounding them and the soil beneath their boots.


	3. The Same Kind of Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If he sends reinforcements everywhere, he will everywhere be weak.” 
> 
> Tommy calls for backup.

Wilbur didn’t realise his hands were bleeding until a trickle of crimson dropped onto his pick’s handle, throat bobbing as the plumb bead turned into a pool of thick red dripping onto the stone beneath him.

He grimaced at his fingers, scratched raw from the hours of work. He reluctantly leant his pick against the cobbled stairs, dropping his back against the wall to catch his breath. Wilbur wasn’t stupid, he knew when his body demanded a break, he should probably listen to it. He couldn’t drive himself into a state of breaking, like Tommy seemed hell bent on doing, he knew that would get him nowhere.

He’d been working for hours now, sweat coating his curls as he heaved with his tool, cutting through stone. Inch by inch, they were making this cave their new home. As his chest started rising and falling at its normal pace, Will pushed himself off of the wall, taking in the surrounding cave. They had stairs leading up to the top cave now, and Wilbur had started working on fixing stable wooden bridges across the ravine.

Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, Wilbur started up the stairs, going to check on Tommy before he continued on. He’d forced the youth to take a break once Tommy had dropped to his knees, passing out from the lack of sleep and the intense strain he’d been under for the past four days. The stress they’d both been under during the past four days, as their old friends continued to hunt them down across the land.

Wilbur had only left once, downing a potion of invisibility before he snuck through L’Manberg and Dream’s lands, trying desperately to find any information that might help them. He’d found out from eavesdropping on George and Punz that Dream wasn’t back from wherever he’d fucked off to yet, and by the tortured look on George’s face, that morphed into a cast of pure aggravation, Wilbur gathered George wasn’t taking that all too well.

Wilbur hadn’t decided if he wanted Dream to show up yet. Didn’t know if it would help or hinder him and Tommy.

He’d also managed to figure out that Schlatt was planning to give a speech in two days, and figured it wouldn’t be that hard for him and Tommy to sneak into L’Manberg to spy. As long as the younger boy just learned when to stop before he burned himself out.

Rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes, Wilbur stifled a yawn as he clambered up the stairs. Stretching out his arms, Will’s eyes fell on the sleeping boy, curled up against the corner, head against the dirt wall. A huff of amusement escaped Will’s lips before he silently moved over to Tommy, grabbing the blanket off of the bed to wrap around the boy’s shoulders. He tugged the orange fabric over Tommy, raising an eyebrow at the state of the boy’s clothes. They were stained in dust and grime from mining all day, the white shirt practically grey at this point. And he hadn’t even bothered to unclip his quiver, the heavy brown leather slung across his chest.

Wilbur sighed before he dropped down beside Tommy, unlatching the quiver and tugging it over his head, pausing slightly when the boy murmured in his sleep. But when he didn’t wake up, eyes staying firmly shut, Wilbur dropped the quiver next to him, before settling down, knees against his chest. It was only when Tommy’s head dropped onto his shoulder, and Will glanced down, did he noticed the scrunched-up piece of paper clenched in Tommy’s right hand. He debated trying to pry it from his hands, but this was the first time the boy had slept in days, and Will didn’t want to risk waking him up.

So, he stayed still, conscious of the resting boy’s head on his shoulder. He might just let his eyes rest for a moment before he got back to work, because the skin around them seemed too tight, and it wasn’t like he could move anyway, with Tommy leaning on him. So Will let his eyes drift shut, head falling onto Tommy’s as his mind started to blur.

When Will woke up, he was alone.

He blinked as everything around him came into focus, frowning down at the blanket wrapped around him. His dark brows furrowed as he pushed himself up onto shaky legs, scanning for Tommy. He must’ve just gone back to work, Wilbur told himself as he ran to the staircase, taking them two at a time as he jumped down into the cave. But there was no sight of blond hair, no sight of a red scarf. No sound of a pickaxe hitting rock. No sound of anything.

Will cursed under his breath as he stumbled back up into the room above ground, grabbing his trench coat from the chest before he made to shoulder open the door. Then he noticed a crumpled-up piece of paper shoved behind the bedframe. Pausing in his tracks, Will bent down, smoothing out the parchment in his hands as his eyes widened.

He recognised that handwriting.

Hadn’t seen it in a year, not since he’d made his new home here. But the sight of it made Will clench the paper a tiny bit tighter, heart clenching as his eyes started to sting pathetically.

Scowling, he shoved the letter into his pocket before he flung the door open, sighing in exasperation when he saw that the horse Tommy had stolen from Fundy was gone already. Squinting in the dark, Will set off in the direction of the coordinates that had been scrawled on the letter, skirting over tree roots and ducking under stray branches that threatened to stab his eyes out.

He was close to the location when he heard a slow growl from behind him. Spinning on his heels, Wilbur was met with the familiar face of a decaying zombie, and the harsh realisation that in his panic, he had forgotten a weapon. He quickly deducted that running was his best, and probably only, option, boots hitting the ground with sharp pounds as he sprinted for his life.

It seemed that the zombie’s realisation had acted as a beacon for every single monster in the surrounding area, with arrows now whirling in the tall man’s direction as he rushed through the wilderness, throat tight. He yelped out when something caught his ankle, and he stumbled, falling to the ground with a defeated thud. He instantly grabbed for the root that he’d caught himself on, desperately trying to tug his boot loose as another zombie continued towards him, groans a death knell as it waved its arms in Wilbur’s direction.

He swore under his breath as he continued trying to pull on the root, but he couldn’t manage to tug himself free, panic rising up in his gut as the zombie gained distance. “Come on,” he hissed, fingers bleeding again as his skin scraped against the gnarled root. “Come on. _Please_.”

Wilbur screwed his eyes shut tightly as the zombie stumbled towards him, now only an arm’s length away. This was how he died. Not to Dream in the war for freedom. Not to Schlatt as he was hunted down for being a revolutionary. To a fucking zombie. Because he’d been so goddamn stupid enough to not bring a weapon.

He prayed to god that Tommy was alright. That he’d gotten to the coordinates safely, that he’d be kept safe. He stilled, throat bobbing as he embraced for impact, the zombie’s mouth opening wide as it readied itself to rip a chunk out of Will’s arm.

But it never came.

The sound of a sword slicing through skin screamed against Will’s ears, and as he opened his eyes slowly, he yelled out when the zombie slid off of an outstretched sword, falling onto him. He pushed the dead monster aside, nose crinkling at the crusty blood that now coated him as he looked up, meeting familiar, sharp red eyes.

“It’s really you,” Wilbur breathed, throat feeling dry.

“Heard you needed assistance,” Technoblade croaked out, wiping his diamond sword against his deep red cape, a whisper of a smile on the man’s face. He looked the same. Still had those ears that flattened against his head when he was pissed off. Still had those small tusks that poked up in front of his lips. He always used to complain about how annoying they were when he was eating. As Will started at his pink-haired friend who he hadn’t seen in over a year, Tommy clambered off his horse to help him up.

“What the fuck is this?” Will hissed once he was standing up, the area they were standing in safely basked in the light from Tommy’s torch. The younger boy’s face paled when Will held up the letter from Technoblade in between his fingers.

“Look, Will. I just-” Tommy started, grimacing slightly.

“No. Shut up,” Wilbur cut him off, lips in a tight line. “What the fuck did I tell you, Tommy? That we couldn’t trust anyone right now. That we had to walk a very thin line until this calmed down. And what do you do? You beg Technoblade for help? _Wilbur never was one to ask for help when he needed it, let alone_ accept _it_?”

This last part was aimed towards the taller man to his right, Will quoting what Techno had written to Tommy.

“Am I wrong?” Techno asked, having the audacity to look slightly bored by this whole ordeal.

“We do not _need_ your help,” Wilbur protested, lips curling into a scowl. “And you’re an _American_ ,” he exclaimed, laughing humourlessly. Tommy just watched on, one hand clenching the horse’s reigns as the other held up the torch, casting shadows into the night. Will ignored the boy, pointing an accusing finger towards his old friend. “How am I supposed to trust you?”

“Will,” Techno started, blinking up at the taller man. It was the first time in this conversation that the man actually looked startled. “We’re friends, Will,” Techno murmured. “Tommy said you guys needed help, okay? S’all."

“Fundy and Eret were my friends too,” Will said, voice coming out weaker than he meant. “And Dream.” Techno blinked, and Will tried to let out a sigh, but it came out as a pained groan, lip quivering as that frustrating stuffiness behind his eyes once again threatened to break.

“Will.” He looked up, blowing unruly curls out of his face as Techno placed a stern hand on his shoulder. “I ain’t gonna do that to you, alright?” He wanted to believe him so badly it hurt, as if Techno’s presence was tugging on his veins, threatening to blindly wrap themselves around the hope Techno brought with him.

But he just couldn’t. He’d had it happen to him too many times before for it to not be his fault. There was a reason people kept slicing their knives into Will as his back was turned, glaring at Dream or Schlatt, just to have one of his own deal the final blow. There had to be a reason, and just because Will hadn’t figured it out yet meant he was going to let himself confide in anyone.

He trusted Tommy with his life, but he didn’t trust the boy to not go back to Tubbo. To not accidentally share confidential information. And while he trusted in Techno’s abilities to defeat literally anyone in a battle, he didn’t trust his old friend to care enough about the revolution Will was planning to not leave at the mention of a better deal.

So, he would keep everything locked up tight in his chest until he figured out how to deal with this whole fucking shitshow. And with a slight nod, and with the placement of his hand on top of Techno’s, newly ripped open skin brushing against old, calloused scars, he accepted the help.

“Welcome to the team.”


	4. Tear in my Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It is easy to love your friend, but sometimes the hardest lesson to learn is to love your enemy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *throws angst then leaves*

George’s head hurt.

Felt like stones constantly rattling around his mind, like someone had filled up his head with marbles and started shaking him around. He let loose a short breath, undoing his tie with tired fingers. Slouching back in his chair, he brought his knees up to his chest, leaning his head on top.

It was early morning now, light whispering into his office through the stained-glass windows, casting a rainbow of shadows across the floor. Maybe if he could actually see the variety of colours it wouldn’t have annoyed him as much. Everything was annoying him. It was as if he was standing at the very edge of a cliff, watching as the sea crashed against the rocks below him, just waiting for a slight breeze to push him off. Sometimes he thought he was asking for it. Silently begging for the wind to tap against his shoulder one last time.

Or maybe he was just sleep-deprived.

He hadn’t been able to sleep in his own bed for the past week. It wasn’t like he hadn’t missed Dream when he’d first ventured off on his own, telling George he’d be back in a couple of days. Telling George that he felt stifled, that he just needed to feel the air against his face as he stalked the plains, hurdled through the Nether. And George had understood.

It had been a year since the war, and while Dream had seemingly kept it together, George didn’t miss when Dream would drift off in the middle of a conversation, eyes growing tortured. And then when he would snap out of it, he’d be pissy the rest of the day, a dark cloud creeping over his shoulder as George and Sap would try and talk to him as he shouldered them away.

George understood the crippling desire to just get out for a moment. But George didn’t understand why Dream felt the need to turn his couple of days into a week, which turned into two weeks, into a month. All George had to know Dream hadn’t fucking died were the crappy letters the other man would send, nothing more than a short scrawl of; _I’m alright, just need a bit more time, I love you and I’ll see you soon._

But that didn’t stop George clutching the letters to his chest as he desperately tried to sleep, head throbbing and heart slipping. But it never worked, and George didn’t know if it was because no matter how hard he washed the fucking sheets, they still smelled like lavender and coffee and Dream, or because he had grown used to feeling that familiar warmth and solidness beside him as he slept. Whatever it was, it was pissing George off, and that was manifesting itself in his sour mood.

So, he just gave up on trying to sleep, and practically moved into his office. His office was actually objectively nicer than his home. Schlatt might’ve been brash and aloof, but the guy knew how to build a nice place.

The new Manberg was a lot nicer than the dark fortress Wilbur had run. Instead of a crappy caravan, a castle now stood tall, and George sat in that stone citadel. In his office of spruce wood and purple banners. It was nice.

Nicer than the brick house that was so deafeningly quiet George had thought he was going fucking mad. So now he slept in his office, blankets kicked under his desk during the day, hidden from anyone who needed to come speak to him.

Because he was important now. He was on the cabinet of Manberg. Had responsibilities and duties.

George dropped his head onto his desk, breathing out from his nose as he screwed his eyes shut. He could barely keep up with the constant ongoing changes of everything and everyone around him. He would just stand beside Schlatt and Quackity, letting everything pass by him, a complete bystander in his own life. It was easier this way though. He’d gotten involved before, and he’d almost ended up alone. Almost ended up with Dream dead, bleeding out in his arms.

George didn’t answer when a knocking came on his door. He didn’t even look up. It would just be Quackity again, asking for a status report on the ongoing attempt to tear down the old L’Manberg walls that surrounded them. He didn’t look up when the door was pushed open anyway, the familiar scrape of the wood door against the cobbled ground sending nails itching down George’s neck. He hated that sound. He needed to fix that fucking door.

“Not now, Quackity,” he muttered into his arms. When he got no reply, he lifted his head up, too tired to move. “Fuck off. I’m not…” But his eyes widened, and his words trailed off when he was met with yellow eyes, and he blinked, straightening up as he watched Dream.

The taller man was shrugging off a heavy coat and dropping it on George’s couch, the mask quickly following. He paused for a moment, standing in a black top and jeans, looking so unequivocally normal and like himself that George wanted to scream. “Oh, I heard you,” Dream grinned, and George’s left eye twitched when the blond stalked over to the desk, a feral grin on his face.

“You wear suits now?”

George blinked again, brows furrowing before he looked down at himself, tugging at the shirt he was wearing. A fucking month and that’s what he decided to first say. George nodded, voice lacing in obvious annoyance when he replied, “I suppose I do.”

Despite the anger painting George’s tried features, Dream didn’t back down, just kept smiling, sitting down on George’s desk beside him. That sent an unruly spiral of ire through George and he leaned back in his chair, as far away from Dream as he could. “So, this is where you’ve been,” Dream nodded, leaning on his arms as he took in the room, nodding sardonically. “I checked home first.” His eyes shot to George at that, clearly trying to gauge his reaction. George didn’t give him the satisfaction of even acknowledging that.

“This is where I’ve been,” he nodded. “Haven’t moved. Been here the whole time. Can’t say the same about you.”

Dream’s breathing hitched as he tried a smile, awkwardly scratching his neck. George ignored the sight of his top riding up, exposing a tan panel of skin. He ignored the way his heart slipped slightly. The anger was overriding his desire for Dream. “I’m a busy guy,” Dream laughed, but he was watching George carefully, green eyes wide.

George nodded stiffly before he stood up from his chair and walked over to the door in silence. Dream didn’t move from his spot on the desk, just turned his head to watch George. He suddenly felt very awkward as he gestured to the door, like a cornered animal who was lashing out.

“I’m also pretty busy,” George said, dropping eye contact even though he could feel Dream’s eyes burning holes into his face. “I’ve got things to do, so if you would-”

“ _George_.”

He hated that he shut his mouth. Hated that Dream had the ability to just shut him up and hated that the motherfucker _knew_ he did. He fucking hated it so much, and he also hated the stiffening madness that was growing behind his eyes as he dropped them to his boots. He fucking hated being in this horrific office and he hated that Dream was here, and that he had had no other goddamn option other than to join Schlatt. He hated that Dream had just walked in like he hadn’t abandoned him for a month, like everything was fine, like everything was normal. Like George hadn’t been slowly drowning in his own breath for the past year, ever since the war, ever since they’d all almost fucking died.

He hated himself. And he hated Dream for not letting himself hate himself. Because when he was with Dream, he felt beautiful, felt ethereal and like nothing could ever fucking touch them again. But then Dream would retreat, and George would be left alone with the stark realisation that he was so fucked. That everything was so fucked, and he couldn’t do anything about it.

And he hated how much he loved Dream, because he knew Dream shouldn’t be his anchor to life. And he hated that he was. Hated that he fucking revolved around Dream, and he hated that he loved it. Revelled in it. Lived purely for that.

“Why are we here, George?” He looked up, back pressed against the door, and met Dream’s gaze. The taller man cocked his head at him, face not giving away any emotion.

“This is my office,” George answered, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. As if anything was simple anymore.

“That’s not what I meant, George,” Dream said quietly as he slid off of the desk, hands slouched in his back pockets as he slowly walked over to George, the older man just holding his breath. “Georgie, we spent months fighting against L’Manberg.” Something in George painfully snapped at the familiar nickname. “And now you’ve joined them? Just like that?”

“ _Just like that_?” George choked out, scoffing. Dream’s words tasted like honey in his mouth. The blond man blinked at him, the untethered rage in his voice clearly surprising him. George didn’t think he cared. “How about we talk about you, fucking off for a month. Abandoning everything, abandoning m-your land. Just. Like. That?”

Dream opened his mouth, hands out of his pockets to reach out. But George cut him off before he could speak, and side stepped around him until his hands could touch him. “You just expect everything to be exactly the same when you decide to come home. Like…like the whole goddamn world revolves around you!”

“George, I-”

“And I fucking wish it was the same, Dream. I wish none of this had happened.” George took a shaky breath in as he folded his arms into himself, quickly walking over to the other side of the room, glaring out the window. Distancing himself from Dream no matter how loud his skin screamed, ached to touch him. “But everything _did_ happen. And Schlatt gave me a choice, and I took what I thought was best.”

“You thought exiling Will and Tommy from their home was the best option?”

He spun on his heels, arching a brow at Dream. “Since when is he _Will_ to you?” Dream didn’t respond, just looked at George with a slightly pained look on his face, like he was trying to figure him out. Dream was always trying to figure everything out. George had realised a while ago that trying to make sense of everything was pointless. Somethings just were. Somethings were just shitty and broken and you couldn’t do anything to fix it. George couldn’t do anything to fix it.

“Wilbur was a bad leader,” George said, glancing over his shoulder to the outside, the rolling lands of green in front of him like an endless sea of nothing. Nothing but whispers of memories, of old, fallen ghosts.

“You don’t really believe that,” Dream objected. George shrugged.

“He held an election to consolidate his own power. He only wants what he thinks is best for himself. He brings ruin and war upon these lands. He can’t stop himself. He surrounded himself by infantile children who merely want to play soldiers-”

“You helped stage a coup, George!” Dream exclaimed, long arms flailing around. “You might not like Will’s way of governing, but he _won_ the election.” George ignored the way Dream kept saying Will, ignored the way it sent a spiralling green-eyed snake slithering around his bones.

“We made a coalition government,” George said, matter-of-factly, turning to look at Dream with a blank face. Too many unsaid words hung between them, as green crashed against brown violently.

“Why?” Was all Dream said, eyes wide and tortured. George just shook his head, biting his bottom lip as his eyes darted away, unable to hold the contact anymore.

“If you want to join Wilbur and Tommy I won’t…I won’t stop you.”

“No, George. That’s not what I’m saying.”

“It’s what you’re implying.”

Silence coated the air for a moment before suddenly a pair of arms were wrapping themselves around George. He screwed his eyes shut as he wordlessly shuffled around, letting his head drop into Dream’s chest. He grabbed a fistful of Dream’s shirt in his fingers, silent tears stinging his eyes. “I’m so fucking tired, Dream.” George’s voice was muffled by Dream’s warmth, and he let himself fully collapse into the taller man, Dream guiding them to the floor as he took George’s weight in his arms.

“I know,” was all he said, rubbing soothing circles on George’s back.

“Everything is just so loud all the time,” he breathed, choking on his own breath as he tightened his hold on Dream. “I can’t fucking take it.”

“I know. I know.”

“Please don’t leave again. I don’t…I don’t think I can take it. It was so horrible."

There was a weighty pause before George felt Dream drop his chin against his brown hair, feeling the taller man nod tightly. “I won’t. I’ll stay. I won’t leave again, George.”

A massive relief came at those words, as if he’d been drowning for a solid month, and Dream’s voice had roughly yanked him out of the water. And although he was spluttering and his chest was rising too slowly, he wasn’t dead.

He tried to ignore the anger that still hummed quietly in his heart. The tear in his heart that screamed out Dream’s name, Tommy and Wilbur’s names, Schlatt’s name, everyone who George could blame for the sinking feeling he was constantly weighed with. Because if he shifted the blame to everyone else around him, he wouldn’t be forced to stare into the mirror. He could try and ignore it. He could just keep his eyes open, and ploughing forward with his new title, ignore the sick feeling that was trying desperately to choke George fro the inside out.

At least he wouldn't have to go to bed alone anymore.


	5. Some Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When the outlook is bright, bring it before their eyes; but tell them nothing when the situation is gloomy.”

Techno didn’t mind it here.

He thought he’d hate it, didn’t normally like being cornered in a land plagued with war. Everyone had somehow come up with this perception of him; that he enjoyed slaughtering those in a battle, enjoyed the way bodies fell behind him with one solid, single, solidary slash. He didn’t. He _did_ enjoy winning.

He enjoyed winning so much he would let it control him, cripple him. He would breathe in that feeling, craving of victory. But he didn’t like to kill people. Didn’t enjoy it, didn’t like seeing the blood slathered against a blade. He much preferred a hoe, stained with dirt and his sweat from a day’s work. That was a lot more satisfying to Techno than the way skin across a throat would ripple open, blood tumbling out.

But he never corrected anyone. Never stopped to object. It was partly because he couldn’t be bothered. Partly because his intimidating image kept people away from him.

Wilbur never had to keep away.

Techno had known Will before he earned his title of ‘the blood god’, before everything in his head went a bit sideways and he started liking spending his time on the fields more than the time surrounded by other people.

They’d grown up in the same village together. Techno didn’t even remember becoming Will’s friend, his brother. He was always just there, had always just been beside him. He never commented on the fact that Techno lived alone, never asked where his parents were, where he’d come from, why he had small tusks that poked out whenever he laughed. Wilbur never asked the hard questions, and Techno was still, to this day, eternally grateful for it.

He remembered meeting Phil. It was a cold winter’s day, and Techno had, for some reason he couldn’t know recall, been set on finding the woodland mansion that the village had been whispering about for a couple of weeks. He’d just got out of his bed one night, unable to push the thought from his head, grabbed his sword from where it lay against the wall and left, the wooden door clicking shut behind him.

It wasn’t like he had anything to live for in particular at that village anyway. He’d just found himself there and had never had a real reason to leave. But Techno wanted to find this mansion, wanted to be the one to find it, to stop whoever was screwing about with the surrounding villages. He couldn’t squander that flaring desire to do something.

He didn’t expect Wilbur to say yes when he knocked on his window that night, asking if he wanted to come. But he wasn’t surprised when the taller boy nodded sleepily, quickly shoving things into a rucksack before he vaulted out of his window.

And the two thirteen-year olds had set off.

“I don’t know if we’ll make it back,” Techno said to Will as they walked through the forest, ducking under a low hanging branch that threatened to grab a fistful of his hair.

“I don’t know if I want to go back,” Will shrugged, glancing over at Techno with that smile Will liked to pull out sometimes. Like he was sharing a secret with Techno that no one else knew. Technoblade never really got what the smile truly meant, but he liked that Will seemed to keep it reserved for him and him only.

A week after they’d set off, the two stumbled into a forest village, Techno collapsing against a cobbled building as he held a bleeding Wilbur in his arms. He wanted to scream out for help, but he didn’t know the people here. Didn’t know what they’d do with the two youths that had ended up on the outskirts of their village. Techno didn’t trust people enough to beg for help. Didn’t believe that people had enough pure goodness in their hearts to outweigh everything else.

And so, he leant Will against a house, desperately trying to hush his pained friend. “Don’t go,” Will breathed shakily, gripping onto Techno’s arm so tightly he had to hide a grimace. “Please, don’t go.”

“I need to go find something to help…” he trailed off as his red eyes dropped down to the mess of a wound that was Will’s leg. They’d stumbled across a pack of wolves on their way, Techno too concerned with figuring out if they were still walking in the correct direction to really notice. But Will had. And then the wolves had noticed them. And now Will’s leg was a mess of torn flesh, looking more like a slab of ripped meat than a boy’s leg.

“Help your leg,” he finished his sentence, desperately trying to keep his face calm. He couldn’t show the panic that was slowly choking him out.

Will frowned, eyes dropping down to his other arm that was clutching his leg, soaked in blood, but he nodded. And that was all Techno needed to sprint off into the night, holding his breath as he paused at the first house he saw. It was wooden, and the spruce had seen better days. Techno pried open a window and hauled himself inside, dropping onto the floorboards silently.

He snuck through the house, heart pounding horribly in his chest. It didn’t take long for him to find a bathroom, and Techno dropped to his knees as he started searching through drawers. He scrambled about, head screaming as he tried to not think about his friend bleeding out in the cold, shivering and dying.

A loose sigh escaped his lips when he found a roll of bandages, and then his eyes dropped on a needle and thread. The idea of it made Techno’s stomach clench with bile, but he knew what he had to do. For Will. So he grabbed the needle too, pocketing them and shutting the drawer before he pushed himself up to his feet. And barrelled right into someone in the doorway.

“Fuck,” was all Techno said as he was met with raised brows, as a guy who looked about seventeen watched him carefully.

And that was how they met Phil.

He helped Techno carry Will into his house after the pink-haired boy quickly explained why he was standing in Phil’s bathroom in the dead of the night, clutching a roll of bandages so tightly in his hands, his knuckles had gone white.

Phil dealt with Will as Techno stood and watched, the kindness surprising him stiff. He watched as Phil stitched up Will’s leg, after the boy had passed out from the pain. “Do you want some milk or something?” Was the first thing Phil asked after he finished with Will, tilting his head to look at Techno.

Techno found himself sitting on a couch, cradling a mug of warm milk as Phil sat across from him. “Why’d you help him?” he asked, not meaning to sound as accusatory as he did.

Phil just shrugged, sipping on his own drink. “Why wouldn’t I help an injured kid?”

“What’s your name?”

“Phil.”

“I’m Technoblade. My friend, the uh… the bleeding one, he’s called Wilbur.”

They stayed with Phil until Wilbur could walk on his own. And the day they were preparing to leave, Techno slinging his rucksack over his shoulder, Phil asked if he could come. Techno just nodded. Didn’t ask why, or if he minded leaving his home behind.

They found the mansion two weeks later. And then they found another village beside the sea. And then they stayed there, the three of them in a townhouse that was warmer than anywhere Techno had ever been. They sold what they’d raided from the mansion in the city that stood a couple of hours away from their village. Phil started working in the small village library, and Will started writing songs. Techno started hearing more rumours, bigger rumours of dragons and portals and monsters. He followed most of them, disappearing for a month at a time, bringing home a bag of treasures that he sold, bringing the money home to his new family.

He was happy.

Techno knew he wasn’t great at handling or expressing his emotions, had known that since he’d been ten years old. But he found himself constantly smiling. When Phil would knock on his door and place a mug of warm milk on his desk, leaving with a kind nod. When Wilbur would pull his guitar out as they sat in their comfortable living room, fingers strumming as he sang loudly, dark eyes wide and sparkling. When Techno would come home, hands scarred and body weary, and his two brothers would throw open the front door with laughter, pulling Techno into their arms and letting him slump against them with a stupidly huge smile plastered on his face.

But then, three years ago, Wilbur told Techno he was leaving. He’d be back, he said. But he needed something new, something different. Techno just stared at him blankly, nodding as Will continued on. Dream and his friends were setting off on some grand expedition. To build their own city, Wilbur exclaimed.

To build their own city.

Two days later, Techno and Phil stood on their doorstep, watching as the then seventeen-year-old Will walked down their garden path to the three other boys who were waiting for their immense voyagem as well.

Three years passed, and Wilbur stayed true to his word. He came back to visit sometimes. And he wrote letters to them, writing of their journey, and then of the new friends he’d made, and then of the nation he’d made. Techno never wrote back. Left that to Phil. It wasn’t like he had anything interesting to say to Will anyway.

The last time Will visited them was a year ago. And he’d brought back a kid with him. He hadn’t prewarned Phil or Techno, and so the pink-haired man had been slightly irritated when he opened the door expecting to see his friend. And instead he saw a blond teenager, words tumbling out of his mouth as he stuck out his hand to Techno. As the kid whittered on, Techno had narrowed his eyes at Will, who had stood behind, smiling awkwardly.

Techno found himself liking the loud child as the week went on, but he also found himself increasingly annoyed at his old friend. He knew he shouldn’t have. Wilbur had found a new, more exciting life for himself in L’Manberg. And Techno couldn’t fault his brother for that. For that need for excitement.

But then the first letter from Tommy had arrived.

And Techno had packed his bag once again, promising Phil he’d be alright, that he’d write, that he’d keep Tommy and Will alive.

And no one had died yet, so Techno was counting himself as victorious for now. He didn’t especially care about this revolution, or Schlatt’s new rule. But he cared about his friends, his family. And although he’d wake up in the caves everyday thinking he was back at home for Phil for a moment, heart falling slightly when he remembered, Techno didn’t completely hate it here.

He blinked as he stepped out of the nether portal, frowning when he realised, he had no idea where he was. Supressing a sigh, he rested his pickaxe against his shoulders, and started walking. He was pretty sure he could find his way back to their base, if he just looked for the signs that told him where he needed to go.

Techno was sometimes called the human compass. Which he thought was incredibly stupid. Firstly, he wasn’t even wholly human, and secondly, if you knew what to look for, it wasn’t hard to pick your way through forests and deserts back home.

As he followed the sun, picking his feet over upturned roots and stepping around blooming flowers, as he walked across the edge of the sea, Techno became aware of another pair of eyes on him. He didn’t let himself pause, fingers tightening over the handle of his axe as he continued walking. The eyes didn’t leave him, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, bristling.

After another five minutes, the person trailing him got sloppy, got too close. And Techno spun, legs flailing out as he bent down, decking the person behind him. As they fell to the ground with a hiss of pain, Techno straightened up, pick twirling in his fingers before he aimed it at the person lying on the ground.

Techno’s brows rose when he looked down to see a chipped mask, the childish face on it faded from when he’d seen it last. “What are you doing?” he asked Dream, drawing back the pickaxe slightly as the man in the green hoodie pushed himself up onto his elbows, cocking his head at Techno.

“Did you know I was following you that whole time?” he asked as he jumped up to his feet, brushing down his jeans.

“Yes,” Techno answered stiffly, brows knitting together.

“Fuck,” Dream swore, rolling his shoulders back before he started chasing after Techno, who had started walking again. “I’m trying to practise stalking.” Techno frowned, glancing sideways at Dream. Sometimes he said the weirdest shit. 

He liked the tall, wheezing man. He’d gotten over that feeling of resentment of him, hating that Dream had affectively stolen his brother from him, a while ago. He’d heard of Dream before he’d met him, the man’s reputation certainly preceded him, but he hadn’t thought much of it. Until somehow everyone had decided that they had a rivalry, which Dream just fed into, constantly craving attention.

They’d fought once before, and it had been one of the only times Techno had ever actually tried to win. He’d won, and Dream had shut up for a moment. And then he went back to being his arrogant self.

What Techno didn’t understand was why Dream was following him around like a shadow. He didn’t even know if Dream was on their side or not. There were too many people and too many spies and traitors for Techno to keep up with. “I left a message for Tommy,” Dream said as he walked beside Techno.

“Yes,” the shorter man nodded. “I saw.”

Dream sighed at Techno’s noncommitted response, and Techno watched as the taller man pushed his tongue into his cheek, clearly trying to work something through in his head. Dream had a face for thinking, Techno had realised pretty quickly, even if he’d never seen his actual face. But he could see the tensed jaw, and the pushed-out cheeks.

“I support you,” Dream said, low voice cutting through the still air. Techno paused, turning to face the other man. “But I can’t get involved.”

“Why not?” Techno pushed, brows lowering. Dream looked away; head low as he avoided Techno’s gaze. There was clearly something there, and Techno couldn’t help but admit he was intrigued.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dream said quickly before he pulled something out of his sweater’s pocket, holding it out to Techno. “Here.”

His lips parted slightly as he took the netherite from Dream, blinking down at the precious material. “See,” Dream laughed, cocky voice back, shadows from his tone gone. “I can help from the shadows.”

Techno rolled his eyes at the theatrics but smiled gratefully anyway. “Thanks,” he nodded, fingers running over the stone.

“No worries, Bacon. I’ll see you around.” Techno opened his mouth to object to that nickname, but before he could say anything, Dream was tossing an ender pearl, and disappearing into nothingness. Sighing, Techno shoved the netherite into his rucksack and continued on his way in silence.

Well, they might be hidden in the shadows and have an excessively loud laugh, but at least him and his brothers had some allies.


	6. Moves in Her Own Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “At first, then, exhibit the coyness of a maiden, until the enemy gives you an opening; afterwards emulate the rapidity of a running hare, and it will be too late for the enemy to oppose you.” 
> 
> Niki supremacy

Niki tugged at her sleeves, the woollen fabric grimy and stained with dust. The pale blue now a streaky grey, blending into the walls that stood around her. She stood at the window, hands clutching the iron bars that kept her in. Her blonde hair was fading back to brown, hanging limply. Dark circles were tattooed under her eyes, skin pale. Cheekbones more prominent than normal, lips chapped and cracked and screaming out for water.

Yawning, she leaned against the wall, cool metal kissing her fingers. She was always tired. All she did in the forsaken cell was sleep, and yet she was always tired, weariness grabbing at her bones and pulling over and over again.

She slept, because then she didn’t have to think as much. Didn’t have to think about her friends, exiled and lost, out there somewhere. Didn’t have to think about the fact that they didn’t know she was there, trapped and trying so very hard to not break. Because there’s no way they knew she was in here. If they did, they would’ve surely tried to help her. They would’ve done something, right? Will wouldn’t let her rot in here.

So, she slept, and when she did think, she thought about how she was going to find a way out of here. How she was going to save herself.

The only people she’d seen in weeks was George and Quackity. The latter came in with a plate of food every day. Always bread and butter, a glass of water on the side. She tried to refuse it at first, electing to shove the plate away with her foot the first time Quackity placed it in front of her, the glass didn’t shatter. “Fine by me,” Quackity had shrugged before he picked up the plate and glass, leaving Niki alone again.

She’d started accepting the food after a week, the pit in her stomach grumbling painfully. But she refused the clothes Quackity would offer her as he went on and on about the reforms of Manberg and Schlatt. She ignored the way the man would balk every time he walked into the cell, lips curling at the state of her.

George, on the other hand, never attempted to speak to her when it was his turn. He would just look at her with a blank stare and hold out the food. Niki hated taking it, hated that she had to touch his hand to take it. She hated him. She hated him and Quackity for keeping her in here, faces of stone whenever they entered. And she hated Schlatt for throwing her in here in the first place.

Three and a bit weeks into her solidarity confinement, a parade of noise sounded from outside. Pushing herself up from her corner on the floor, Niki scrambled over to the window, hauling herself up so she could properly see. Her jaw unhinged in shock as she watched a sea of people milling towards Manberg, towards her, trapped in this tower in the fortress. George was at the front of the crowd, sitting on a horse, face as blank as always. And Schlatt was beside him, sitting tall on his own horse, reigns wrapped around his wrists as his grin send a shudder through Niki.

As the crowd of about a hundred people walked closer, the door to her cell swung open. She dropped down from the windows and spun on her heels, glaring at Quackity as he stood in the threshold, awkwardly holding the plate of bread.

“What is this?” she demanded, brows knitting together as she gestured out of the window.

“Schlatt’s trying to populate Manberg with civilians from a city a couple of hours away. He thinks-” Quackity’s gaze widened as he cut himself off, clamping his mouth shut as he shot Niki a sideways glance. “It’s nothing to do with you,” he said instead, placing the plate down on the floor before he left, cell door swinging shut with a deafening thud.

Niki’s eye stayed on where he’d been before they dropped down to the plate, and her lips curled in disgust. Hugging her arms to her chest, she leant against the wall, head tipped up to the dingy ceiling. Niki had been like the people who were now milling into Manberg not that long ago.

She’d come from a small seaside town. Was where she met Will. If she shut her eyes, she could still remember what it felt like to stand on the cliffsides, the wind wrapping around her waist, combing through her hair as the sea sang. If she tried hard enough, Niki could remember standing on the beach of broken shells and sea-kissed rocks, clutching onto her best friend’s arms as he told her he was leaving.

She’d only been sixteen, shaking her head and holding back devasted tears, when Will had told her he was going to follow Dream and his other friends from the city off into the unknown. To start their own city, to claim their own land and leave their own mark on the world.

“I wish you all the luck in the world, Will,” she had smiled, ignoring the way her heart felt like it was slipping, like it was tugging on her chest, begging her body to follow Wilbur. “I truly do.”

“Come with me, Niki.” She’d blinked, looking up at Wil with surprised eyes as the taller boy lightly cupped her right cheek, soft knuckles brushing down her jaw. “We can have an adventure, together. Me and you, Niki. You know there are jungles out there bigger than this whole town. Bigger than the city even. And it’s just out there, waiting for us to see it.”

She’d nodded, leaning into his touch for another moment before she lightly took his hand in her own, removing it from her face. “My place is here, Will,” she had breathed, wind carrying her soft words into the sea as Wilbur blinked down. He nodded, brown eyes like fresh honey as he watched her carefully. He didn’t protest, didn’t get angry as she turned his offer down. Just nodded sadly, curls of brown sweeping in his face.

Niki reached up to push a stray wave out of his eyes. “But once you’ve found your new land, once you’re settled and happy, send me a letter. And I’ll follow.” A small smile had whispered across Will’s face at that as he looked down at Niki, dimples creasing in his cheeks. “I’ve always wanted to start a bakery somewhere,” she added with an uncertain shrug. “When you’ve sorted everything out. I’ll come to you.”

“Promise?” he’d asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“I promise.”

And she had held up her promise.

Niki would’ve started to believe that Will might’ve been dead if she hadn’t asked Phil for an update every now and then. He didn’t send her letters, never came to visit her when he came home for a couple of days, to let his brothers know he was still alive. Niki didn’t hear from Will for years.

But then a year ago there had been a sharp knocking at her door, and when Niki opened it, expecting to see the postman or the milkman, she found Wilbur. He stood on her doorstep with his yellow sweater, clutching a bouquet of snowdrops as he bashfully smiled down at her, brown eyes shy and uncertain.

And then she’d been sworn into L’Manberg. Had been handed her very own uniform and title. Had built her own bakery beside the docks. Had lived in peace, baking with Fundy and walking around his nation with Will. Since she hadn’t been here for the War (which she had quickly figured out was the reason Will hadn’t called on her promise sooner) she didn’t harbour the same intense hatred for Eret and the other men that Will and Tommy did, and so she found herself becoming fast friends with the appointed King Eret.

And then everything had gone to shit.

And instead of sifting flour into ceramic bowls, she watched as her friends were torn from their home, scrambling through the dirt, crawling away by their nails as swords slashed down upon them and arrows rained down relentlessly. Instead of picking wildflowers, pressing them down into pages and tracing the petals, she unsheathed her sword for the first time, aiming the point at Schlatt’s neck, ignoring the way her fingers shook, sword heavier than she’d expected. Instead of sitting at the sea, Will at her side as they skimmed rocks like they were teenagers again, her wrists had been bolted and chained, and she’d been tossed into that cell, knees skidding when George pulled the door shut behind her.

It started to get harder for Niki to differentiate between dreams and reality as the days crawled by. Started to get harder to remember her friends’ faces, their voices as she held her hands to her chest. She thought she was asleep when Schlatt appeared in the threshold of her cell one day, peering down at her in a mix of cold amusement and shuddering disgust.

“This uniform’s seen better days,” he said as he strolled into the room, crouching down beside Niki as she scrambled backwards slightly, back hitting the stone wall as she narrowed her eyes at him. Was it a dream? Was he really here? Schlatt never came to see her? If she reached out would her hand pass right through? Or would she feel something solid other than her own chapped and dry skin or the cold, unforgiving hardness of the stone all around her.

“What do you want?” Niki asked, invisible talons dragging slowly against her throat as she spoke, voice pained.

“What I’ve always wanted, Niki,” Schlatt said, blinking at her before he smiled softly, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. “I want you to join me.” Niki didn’t reply, fingers curling into fists as she watched him watch her. “I’m having a little shindig tonight. And I’d like you to attend.”

Niki heard the threat hidden behind the mask of an invitation. Saw it in the way Schlatt cocked his head slowly, eyes narrowing ever so slightly at her, jaw clicking.

“Why?” she questioned, voice breaking before she coughed slightly, voice getting caught in her chest. Schlatt didn’t comment on it, merely straightened up, offering Niki a hand. She didn’t take it. But he didn’t retract it. His hand stayed outstretched as he continued speaking, fingers twitching to the sound of Niki’s thudding heartbeat.

“To welcome all the new residents of Manberg.”

“That is _not_ what this town is called,” Niki objected, nose crinkling.

Schlatt clicked his tongue, shaking his head down at her. “Niki, the times are changing. I strongly suggest you change with them. Before you get left behind.”

Niki bit her bottom lip, glancing down at the floor, unable to hold Schlatt’s unnerving gaze for so long. “Niki, they’re not coming back. Tommy, Will, they’re gone. Started their own new nation in some cave.” Niki blinked, tears threatening to betray the sudden seize of her chest, as her head snapped back up to Schlatt. “They know you’re in here. They’re not coming. No one’s coming.”

Breathing started to hurt, as everything suddenly went silent.

“I’m offering you a second chance, here, Niki,” Schlatt said, and it felt like pure kindness in his voice as he wiggled his hand in the air, sides of his lips tugging into a soft smile. Niki blinked up before she slipped hers into his and let him pull her to her feet. It wasn't like she was getting anywhere trapped in this godforsaken cell. Might as well take his hand for now.

She stumbled slightly, foot catching on a cracked piece of stone, but Schlatt caught her around the waist, tugging her upright again. “Good decision,” the man nodded, before he let go off her, a grin dancing across his eyes.

Niki then suddenly found herself being escorted to a room, and then plunged into a copper tub. She bit back a moan at the feeling of fresh water against her skin, and practically rubbed herself raw of all the dirt and grim that had been coating her before pulling herself out of the bathtub.

She wandered back into the room Schlatt had led her to, arms wrapped protectively around herself as she peered about. She checked the windows first, brows furrowing when she found them tightly sealed shut. Of course.

Slowly scanning the room for anything she could use; her eyes fell on a dress lying across the bed. Gingerly picking it up, Niki ran her fingers over the fabric, breath catching in her throat. It was beautiful. Pink lace and small embroidered flowers decorated the shirt, tufts and tufts of fabric everywhere. Niki had never seen a dress like this, a dress that looked like pure magic. But as she slipped it on, it felt coarse, suffocating. Sleeves wrapping around her wrists like chains and catching on her waist like hands of steel.

Before she could do anything about it, there was a knock at the door. Tentatively pushing it open, Niki mentally readied herself to come face to face with one of her captors again. But instead of Quackity or George, even Schlatt god forbid, Tubbo stood there, a lopsided smile on his face as he met Niki’s eyes.

“Tubbo,” she breathed out, tears prickling at her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. Her chest heaved heavily when she felt his arms around her, returning the hug. “Are you alright?” she asked when she pulled back, keeping her hands on his arms.

As he nodded bashfully, Niki properly took him in. He looked older; a lot older than he had a month ago. She couldn’t tell if it was because the teenager was in a pressed suit, dark hair combed down to the side. Or if it was because his blue eyes seemed so much more saturated than they had before, as if someone had drained the colour from the boy’s face.

“I should be asking you that,” he said, cringing slightly when she didn’t reply, both of their eyes drifting to the bruises on her wrists from the chains, a map of angry, harsh purple lines.

“What’s happening?” she asked instead, glancing down the stone halls to make sure they weren’t being listened to. “Will? Eret? Tommy?”

“Alive,” Tubbo said quietly before he started to walk down the hall, gesturing for Niki to follow him. A sigh of relief escaped her lips, eyes fluttering shut for a second. They were alive. They were alive.

“And? What of their plans? What about Schlatt bringing in people from-”

“I can’t talk about it, Niki,” Tubbo said, voice sterner than she’d ever heard from the boy, as he cut her off. She blinked, steps faltering slightly. “I can’t tell you.”

“Tubbo,” she tried, reaching out for his hand, but the boy stepped away slightly, keeping his head trained forward. He only looked back at her once they reached a hall, music dancing around the air as warm golden light invited them in. It was only when they stopped in the grand threshold, carved figures above them depicting a battle, did Niki notice the crumpled collar. And then the slightly stained cuffs, and the badly laced shoes. Maybe the Tubbo she called a friend was still under all the polish and clean, shining blazers.

“I’ll see you later. And I hope it’ll be in a much better situation than this,” he whispered down to her, before he disappeared into the sea of people in outfits much like theirs, dancing and drinking. The sound of laughter was like a gunshot, rocketing against the walls. Niki wanted to scream. Wanted to grab onto the people closest to her and tell them to run, to flee from this place. Because this place was doomed, plagued with war. It was coming, she wanted to shout.

But before she could do anything, before she could even take a step, someone was at her side. She looked up to find George standing beside her, eyes as harsh and cold as ever, lips pressed into a firm line.

She always wondered what George had been like before Schlatt. Before the first war. Wondered if he’d always been this statue-like, this unrelenting indifference. Maybe he wasn’t even truly like that. Maybe this was a special mask only prisoners of war got to see of the man.

“I suppose you’re my guard for the night then?” she asked with a sigh, folding her arms into herself. George looked down at her, eyes narrowed before he scoffed slightly. She guessed that meant yes, and he didn’t seem any more pleased with the arrangement than her.

They stood there in silence for what must’ve only been around an hour but felt like slowly crawling years to Niki. Her eyes kept flickering over all the exits, heart kept slipping in hope, before George would roll his shoulders back or sigh softly, and the diamond sword at his side would move, reminding Niki of her situation.

She purposefully ignored Schlatt, lounging on his throne of smooth stone, running his tongue over his teeth. Unlike everyone else, who had dressed up for the occasion, the man himself was wearing the same suit he always did, red tie whispering of the blood he’d spilled, the way he’d hunted down Will and Tommy, then forsaken Niki.

It wasn’t until another man approached them did George finally acknowledge something other than Niki. She was sitting down at one of the tables laden in pints of ale and saucers pilled with rich meat, swirling a glass of red wine, watching as the drink kissed at the sides. She hadn’t drunk any, desperate to stay on high alert while she was surrounded by enemies on all sides.

George was sitting beside her, slouched back and picking at the chair. He’d taken his blazer and tie off, abandoning them on the table. He was still pretending like she didn’t exist.

Niki’s head snapped up when someone sat down beside them, throwing their right leg over their other, hands casually slouched in their trouser pockets. He wasn’t wearing a suit like George or Tubbo, just black, cuffed trousers and a fir-green sweater. His outfit might’ve drawn attention if it wasn’t for the foreboding mask on his face. “Thought this was meant to be a party,” the man said as he reached over Niki to grab a glass, his long, tanned fingers curling over the stem.

Niki’s lips parted slightly, unable to speak as she stared at the masked man. She’d never properly spoken to Dream, merely seen him from a distance a couple of times over the past year as she rode through his lands. He’d never attempted to speak to her before, and she’d always been too fearful to endeavour a conversation.

“Never seen someone look so fucking depressed at a party,” he whistled before he took a long drink from the glass, head cocked in George’s direction. It was only then when Niki realised Dream wasn’t even acknowledging her. Of course, he wouldn’t. Why would he? He was George’s best friend, and George was on the polar opposite side of Niki. She was literally here as his captor, dressed up in a pretty pink dress.

George looked up, face deadpan and slightly annoyed as he glared up at Dream. “I don’t like parties,” was all he said, sitting up straighter as the taller man nodded along, continuing to drink the alcohol.

“Come dance with me,” Dream said suddenly, tossing the now empty glass onto the table. Niki flinched when it shattered, and George widened his eyes in annoyance, but Dream paid them no notice. He just stood up, brushing down his trousers before he extended a hand out to George.

“Dance with me, Georgie,” he murmured, voice softer than Niki would’ve thought capable for a man who brought on a year’s long slaughter just for some land.

Niki watched as George’s eyes flicked from Dream to her before he shook his head, scratching the back of his neck. “I can’t leave her unattended to. Schlatt’s orders.” Although Niki couldn’t see his face, she could feel the irritation waving off of Dream at those words. The taller man glanced in her direction for the first time, jaw clenched.

“What’s she going to do, George? She doesn’t have a weapon. And it’s not like she’d get one foot out of the main entrance before she was shot in the back.” Niki balked, chest thudding tightly as her fingers curled into her skirt, knuckles straining. “Come on. Dance with me. Please?” he asked again, wriggling his fingers in George’s face, who swiped them away with a scoff, even though he was smiling.

“Stay here,” he ordered Niki as he took Dream’s hand. “It’ll make everything easier for both of us if you just…” he trailed off, sighing deeply. Dickhead. “Just stay here.”

“Wait, let me just,” Dream started before they left, tugging his sweater off over his head, throwing it at Niki, who caught it with a scowl. “Look after that for me, will you?” he asked, cocky grin plastered over his lips before he tugged George into the crowd of dancing partners.

Niki frowned down at the green sweater, ready to throw it out the window like the ass deserved, when she felt something buried inside of the fabric. Glancing around the room suspiciously, Niki dug her hand into the sweater in her lap, gasping in shock when cold steel kissed her fingers. Why? Why would he help her? He had nothing to gain by this, and she had been sure Dream was on Schlatt’s side. Why else would he be here, at this party?

Looking up with wide eyes, Niki found Dream in the crowd, inches taller than most people around him. Throat bobbing, she stood up, and when Dream discreetly nodded at her, hands around George, the shorter man’s face buried in his chest, she moved. She didn’t understand why Dream was helping her, didn’t know why he’d risk betraying his friends and Schlatt. But she wasn’t going to question the help he was dangling down in front of her. She just had to grab it.

Clutching the sweater to her chest and fingers digging into the fabric, she weaved in and out of the melee, bumping right into an incredibly drunk man with a white headband wrapped around his hair. She muttered an apology before she took off again, collapsing against the wall when she made it out of the massive, suffocating hall into a side corridor.

Catching her breath, she let the sweater fall from her fingers, dropping to the cold floor with a whisper. The iron dagger sat in her open palms, and Niki blinked down at her metallic reflection before she clenched her fingers around the hilt, bringing the dagger down to the side. A flame licked at her heart as Niki took a step down the corridor, then another, before she was grabbing fistful of skirt so she could run through the halls easier.

Dream’s voice echoed in her ears as she ran, hair flying behind her as her steps marched to the beat of the music coming from the hall. _And it’s not like she’d get one foot out of the main entrance before she was shot in the back._ So, she couldn’t easily get out of the main entrance. She’d already figured as much, but at least now she wouldn’t have to waste time checking.

Finding herself at a large bay window, Niki checked over her shoulder for anyone coming before she climbed up, kicking the glass out with her foot. Hissing as the glass shattered, ripping at her dress and ankle as it fell. She could hear Schlatt’s booming voice coming from the hall as she started using the knife to saw through her skirts, binding together a makeshift rope.

“Welcome, new citizens of Manberg,” Schlatt laughed, voice hissing in Niki’s ear as she slung the fabric around the curtain railing before she tossed it out of the window. “I am so very glad to have you all here.”

“She must be around here somewhere.” She stiffened at the new voice, eyes widening and fear scratching down her skin, coursing through her veins. Still gripping the dagger in one hand, Niki lowered herself out of the window, grabbing the fabric as she climbed down so tightly, she thought all the bones in her left hand might simultaneously snap.

When she dropped to the ground with a soft thud, a relieved laugh escaped her lips. It didn’t take her long to find a stray horse nearby, and as she pulled herself up, she heard shouts coming from behind her. Glancing over her shoulder as she buried her fingers into the horse’s mane, she spotted Fundy and a couple of other men pointing at her. “Time to go,” she told the horse before she jerked her knees, wind streaming through her hair as they took off.

Tears of freedom clung to Niki’s jaw as the horse ran towards Eret’s castle.

Air had never tasted so sweet. Breathing had never felt so right.

Niki was going to find Will, and she was going to make Schlatt burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmfao I didn't realise how goddamn long this was until now
> 
> thanks for reading <3


	7. Signed his Name Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The rising of birds in their flight is the sign of an ambuscade. Startled beasts indicate that a sudden attack is coming.” 
> 
> Tubbo moment

Tubbo cringed when Schlatt’s voice grew louder, echoing harshly against the stone walls. He spoke calmly, like he always did, but the man’s gritty voice had a sharp edge to it that reminded Tubbo of the way that arrow had sliced through his skin a year ago. His vision went blurry, purple dots blinking in his peripheral as that event flashed back into his mind. Grabbing his torso, he suddenly felt pooling blood and his breathing quickened.

Sticky crimson dripped down his shirt, staining it red as an invisible arrow shot through his chest over and over. The melody of clashing swords screamed in Tubbo’s ears, the harsh thudding of his own heartbeat. The hall of stone and wood melted into a painting of destruction, Tubbo standing in a battlefield of upturned metal, black dirt and the smell of sulphur and ash.

Mind fading, Tubbo stumbled. He readied himself to be met with the sharp end of a blade against his skin, to slowly fade from that tether to reality.

But he caught himself on Schlatt’s chair, chest rising and falling heavily as he blinked a couple of times. He looked up with clear eyes to see George and Schlatt staring back at him. The room materialised in front of him, and Tubbo tried to catch his breath as he scanned around him, fingers gripping tightly onto the surface beneath him.

The tables from the party last night still propped up around the perimeter of the room. Sunlight streaming in from the windows. The smell of bread coming from somewhere mixing with the smell of charcoal from the torches on the wall. The way the floor felt under his feet, solid and unmoving.

“Tubbo?” Schlatt asked, brows furrowing down at the boy as he leaned forward in his chair, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. Tubbo shrunk away from the touch, nodding slowly. “I’m fine. Sorry, I just…” he trailed off, shaking his head as he blinked down at his hands, now clean, images of blood-stained palms flashing over and over again in his mind.

Schlatt shot him a concerned look before he turned back to George, who was watching Tubbo with widened eyes. The teenager just trained his eyes onto the floor, staring down at his clean and polished shoes. “You let her get away,” Schlatt said, fingers curling around the sides of his chair. George didn’t reply, jaw clenching as he straightened his back.

“I gave you one fucking job, George,” Schlatt continued, slouching back in his seat as he shook his head, irritation painting his face. “You don’t even show up half the time, and when you do, you fuck up.”

“And who the hell put you in the position to call the shots, Schlatt?” George snapped, and Tubbo glanced up to watch, taking a cautious step back when Schlatt’s face flickered in feral amusement. Schlatt had been a fair leader so far, fairer than Tubbo was expecting. He didn’t ever shout at him personally, was never anything but kind to him, actually. But even he could tell George was pushing it.

“I won the election,” the taller man said simply, folding his arms as he leaned forward in his chair.

“It was supposed to be a coalition,” George protested, fingers clenching into fists at his side. Schlatt just rolled his eyes, giving a huff of amusement.

“Look, George, I honestly don’t really care what you think. Cause what are you gonna do about it? Are you gonna go run to Dream, eh?” he asked, and Tubbo didn’t miss the way Schlatt’s face lit up in glee when George’s face fell slightly, blue eyes flickering in rage.

“That’s what I thought,” Schlatt nodded, before he waved a dismissive hand towards George. “You can fuck off now. Go find Quackity or something before I decide you deserve a punishment for your momentous fuck up.”

George didn’t move for a moment, glaring at Schlatt like he might pull out a sword and slit the man’s guts out there and then. Tubbo wondered why he didn’t. George clearly didn’t like his ‘president’ and he was a much better fighter than the other man. Tubbo almost hoped that he would, silently begging George to just do it and end this whole thing. But the shorter man just unclenched his jaw before he nodded tightly, spinning on his heels before he stalked out of the room, the door slamming behind him.

“God, what a moron,” Schlatt sighed, shaking his head in disbelief before he turned to Tubbo, who tried not to shudder under the man’s imposing gaze.

“Yeah,” he agreed, nodding tentatively, as a slight breeze bit at his skin. Tubbo missed his L’Manberg coat. Missed the way it kept the cold out, protecting him against the elements that hailed down. The seasons were changing, the leaves outside now turning from green to burnt orange, the rivers that littered the lands becoming harsh depths.

His suit did nothing to keep out the cold.

“Alright, Tubbo,” Schlatt started, clapping his hands together as he pushed himself out of his chair. “You’re dismissed. Go do whatever it is Tubbos do.” And with that he stalked down the steps from the platform, and Tubbo stood, body tight and breathing hitched as he watched Schlatt leave, hands behind his back. When the clicking of the door signalled that he was alone, Tubbo slouched against Schlatt’s chair, carding shaking hands through his hair.

He stayed there for a couple minutes trying to calm the jittering of his hands, reminding himself that the blood wasn’t real, that the war was over. That he was alright. But the more he said it, the less he believed it.

He stood up straight, footsteps loud as he jogged across the room, the still air suddenly feeling too stuffy inside. Everything wasn’t alright, was it, he asked himself as he sprinted through the halls, jumping around people he didn’t recognise. He didn’t recognise anything anymore. This was barely the same place he’d once called a home.

His family was either gone or unrecognisable. Fundy had burned down the flag, disowned his past allegiance to Will. Niki had vanished, and Tubbo hated himself for not trying harder to help her. She’d managed to do it on her own, managed to somehow escape Schlatt’s tight clutch. Because Niki was strong. Stronger than Tubbo had ever been. But she was gone, and as much as he hated to admit it, knowing she was here, someone on his side was still physically near him, had been comforting to some extent.

And Will and Tommy. He hadn’t seen them in weeks. Last night, at the ball, Tubbo had found himself dancing with a woman who’d had orange flowers braided into her dark hair. He hadn’t excused himself before he ripped away from her, eyes stinging bitterly as he’d fled, heart pounding painfully until he’d reached his room in the fortress.

He’d slid down the door to the floor, clutching at his hair as he sobbed, the hole in his soul left by his friends screaming, ripping at his mind.

He felt his heart racing again when he shoved open the wooden doors to the fortress, gasping for air like he was slowly drowning when he stumbled out into the outside. Shoulders trembling and stomach squeezing uncomfortably, Tubbo found himself instinctively walking forward, finding himself standing where the walls of L’Manberg once stood. Before they’d been torn down, brick by brick.

Schlatt wanted to expand. Schlatt wanted more land. Schlatt wanted more farms, more buildings. Schlatt wanted more and more and more and he just wouldn’t stop wanting and wanting.

Tubbo wanted too. Tubbo wanted everything to go back to how it was. Wanted to go back to his home with Tommy. Wanted not to feel on edge every second of the day. Tubbo never wanted to lift another sword in his life. The mere thought of it threatened to set him off.

Looking up, breathing slightly calmer as he dug his fingernails into his palms, Tubbo saw someone standing on top of a hill, staring right at him. Frowning, Tubbo looked around him, in case the person was meeting someone else, but he was standing alone at the edge of Manberg, wind ruffling his dark hair.

Rubbing his palms into his eyes, Tubbo looked up again, expecting the person to be gone. He was pretty sure he was going insane. He kept seeing things, like Tommy sitting at the end of his bed whenever he woke up, just for his friend to disappear when he blinked. Or when George would walk into Schlatt’s office without knocking, and Tubbo would startle at the man as he aimed a bow at him, arrow glinting in the light, only for George to shoot him a strange look when Tubbo realised it was all in his head.

But this person was undeniably real. Taking a step forward, Tubbo squinted, trying to make out who it was. And then he saw the floppy brown waves, and the way the person was standing, as if they were waiting for Tubbo.

He pushed his feet off against the dirt, sprinting faster than he thought he could. A relieved and trembling laugh left Tubbo’s lips as he practically barrelled into Wilbur, wrapping his arms around the taller’s waist in a tight hug. Wilbur was real. He was real and solid, and he had come to see Tubbo.

“Wilbur, oh my god,” he said, voice muffled by Will’s chest as he felt his friend pat him on the shoulder before he pulled away, holding Tubbo at an arm’s length. He tried to not let it get to him, the slight feeling of rejection that whispered in his ear.

“Come on,” Will said, smiling softly down at Tubbo before he turned. “Before someone sees us.”

Nodding, Tubbo followed after Will, properly taking him in. Will’s L’Manberg uniform was also gone, replaced with a black jumper and jeans, as well as a poorly made trench coat stained in dirt and dust. They moved quickly, Wilbur glancing down at him every minute as they made their way through the forest, using the trees as cover.

“Schlatt won’t be looking for you?” Will asked after about ten minutes of walking, pausing in his tracks to properly look at Tubbo. The teenager shook his head eagerly, hands fisting his shirt as all his emotions raged in his veins; uncertainty and confusion and the ecstatic relief at finding Will alive soaring through him. “Alright,” Will nodded before he gestured with his head for Tubbo to follow again, leading him over a hastily made cobblestone bridge.

“I guess it’s time for you to see Pogtopia then, Tubbo.”

Tubbo’s breathing hitched. Schlatt had been hunting Will and the others down for weeks now, sending out teams of hunters across the land in search of the insurgents. Tubbo was pretty sure it was pissing Dream off, every time the other leader came to meet with Schlatt, his steps were stiff, and his stance was wide. He’d never been like that with Will. Cocky and aloof and furious yes, but never irritated to the point of pining Will down to discuss it. Schlatt hadn’t stopped encroaching on Dream’s land.

“Well,” Will said, turning to face Tubbo with a grin plastered across his face. “Welcome to our commune.” And with that, the older man walked up to a hillside, moving a sheet of vines with his hand to uncover a cavern in the hill. Tubbo followed, finding himself in a small hollowed out room.

There was a bed pushed up against the rock wall, orange blankets strewn. There were a couple of chests around the room, items spilling out of them. A single torch was hanging on the wall, and Tubbo watched as Will lit it, golden light suddenly illuminating the room, casting shadows across the floor. Tubbo smiled, the mess and uncoordinated chaos of the small chamber reminded him of his small home with Tommy.

He hadn’t been back there since the election. He wondered if Tommy had. If Tommy had gone there looking for him, only to find an empty house, orange tulips swaying lonely in the wind.

He opened his mouth to speak, when Will moved again, kicking a chest to the side with his boot to reveal a staircase carved into the ground. “After you,” Will grinned, brown eyes glinting. Tubbo couldn’t help but smile back, the fact that Will was trusting him a massive weight off of his shoulders. Maybe they’d let him finally join. Let him live with his family again. So, he could finally get out of that goddamn fortress, cold and unwavering in all its stone glory.

Tubbo made his way down the steep, spiral staircase, fingers trailing the rocky sides as he went down. Torches lit the way, his shadow keeping close to him as he finally reached the bottom. “Oh woah,” Tubbo murmured as he stopped at the cobble landing, glancing over the edge. He was met with a massive cave, littered in torches and stone pathways. Bridges connected the two sides of the ravine, stone breaking off and tumbling all the way to the bottom when Tubbo leaned a bit too forward.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Will said as he came up beside Tubbo, both of them looking out across the cave system. Tubbo didn’t miss the slight bitterness lacing his voice, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead he just buried slightly deeper into his blazer and smiled. “It’s lovely.”

“Oh.” Will looked down at him, face a cast of shock. Blinking, he shrugged gingerly, and Tubbo watched as the man pulled the beanie on his head further down. “I thought you were going to say this looks like shit,” he admitted, brows knitting together.

Tubbo shook his head, following behind when Will started walking further down the staircase. Will walked with ease, not even pausing as he used his long legs to leap over gaps in the bridges. Tubbo stumbled after him, arms out to try and balance himself.

“Well, you haven’t seen Manberg lately,” Tubbo laughed as they finally reached the bottom, his shoes touching solid ground. Will’s head snapped towards him, eyes narrowing as a darkness seemed to take over his face. “No. I haven’t, Tubbo,” he hissed, nostrils flaring. “Thank you though, for rubbing it in.”

Tubbo panicked as his friend turned his back to him, rifling through chests as he ignored Tubbo. “No, no,” he started, reaching out for Will as his voice broke. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“No, I heard you, man,” Will shook his head. Tubbo didn’t remember Will ever sounding this cold.

“It’s actually…uhm,” Tubbo trailed off, unsure of what to say. He glared down at his shoes, ignoring the stuffiness behind his eyes. He was never really good with his words. And now he’d gone and offended his friend. “It’s gone in quite the opposite direction,” he mumbled, only looking up when he felt Will’s gaze on him.

Gone was the rigid clenched jaw, replaced with a manic grin. “Oh,” he laughed, gripping Tubbo’s shoulders. Tubbo frowned down at the touch, as Will’s fingers digged in harshly. “Oh, it looks bad?” Before Tubbo even had a chance to respond, Will’s hands were gone, the older man pacing as he clasped his hands together. “Oh, that’s great. That’s brilliant,” he laughed, shaking his head in awe. Tubbo didn’t reply, just watched his friend cautiously.

“You know what, Tubbo?” he asked, head quirking to face Tubbo, who was now standing against the wall, arms folded into himself. Will’s feral look was gone, and now only his normal, kind face smiled back at him. He was getting whiplash from the mood swings, nervous as to what he’d said to set Will off. And if he’d go off again.

“I trust you now.” Tubbo frowned.

He hadn’t trusted him _before_. But they were practically family. Tubbo had put his life on the line for Will in the last war. Had done everything his president had asked him to without question. Had stood by him silently for a year, sword raised for Will’s command. And he’d stopped trusting Tubbo because he hadn’t chased after him and Tommy into the woods?

“I trust that you’ll spy for us, Tubbo,” Will nodded, starting up the stairs again. Tubbo faltered before he trailed him, fingers shoved into his trouser pockets. He was going to be a spy. He had to go back to Schlatt.

He nodded wordlessly, too engrossed in his thoughts to notice where he was stepping. He yelped out when his foot got caught on a loose rock, tumbling over the edge of the stairs. He screwed his eyes shut, ready for his back to meet solid ground. But it never came.

“What did I say about the railings?”

A pink-haired man was holding onto Tubbo’s shirt, stopping him from falling off of the stairs to meet the ground with a snap. Tubbo’s jaw hung open as the man grabbed onto his arm to help him straighten up, long hair waving over his shoulders.

“You’re Technoblade,” Tubbo blurted out, eyes widening as Techno looked down at him, nodding gingerly.

“That I am,” he replied, awkwardly patting Tubbo’s shoulder before the man grimaced, turning on his heels and walking over the bridge to Will.

Unlike Wilbur, Techno’s clothes weren’t scrubbed in dirt, the red cloak he was wearing was impeccable. It looked warm. Tubbo involuntarily shivered before he crossed the bridge, joining the two men as Will rolled his eyes.

“The railings were unnecessary,” Will snorted as he waved a dismissive hand. Techno sighed, sharing a look with Tubbo. He didn’t fully understand what the look meant, but it made him feel like he had something in common with the infamous warrior, so he grinned back.

It was only when Techno announced he was off to farm more potatoes, did Tubbo realised it had been a couple of hours since he’d left Manberg. “I should probably go back,” he told Will, biting the inside of his cheek as the older man’s face clouded over slightly before he nodded.

“You’re probably right, Tubbo,” he agreed, clapping the younger boy’s back. “You know where we are now,” he said, pointing to himself and then down to the bottom of the caves, where Techno was twirling a pick in his fingers, ears flat against his head as he watched Will and Tubbo speak. “If you ever need us, just shout. I’ll hear you,” he added, voice dropping slightly as he leaned down, so he was eye to eye with Tubbo. Nodding slowly, Tubbo tried to smile, but he was pretty sure it came out as a grimace as he stepped out of Will’s reach. Pausing at the exit of the cavern, eyes falling on the bed, Tubbo noticed a green bandana scrunched up under the pillow.

That was Tubbo’s bandana. He’d given it to Tommy months ago, when the boy had complained about his hair getting in his eyes when they’d been tending to their garden. Tubbo had snorted, tugging the bandana he normally kept around his wrist off, throwing it over to his friend.

Tommy caught it wordlessly, carding the fabric through his fingers before he smiled up at Tubbo. It was one of those incredibly rare Tommy smiles. Not painted in menace or mischief, not in amusement or pride. Just pure and raw kindness and gratitude.

Tubbo hadn’t spared that flimsy piece of fabric another thought after that day. But here it was. Tommy had kept it. Had brought it here with him.

It was then, standing in that cavern, golden light kissing at his skin and cold air breathing down his neck. As he stood on the dirt of Tommy and Will’s new home that didn’t include him, did Tubbo realise something. It didn’t matter where he was, because he was always going to be with Tommy.

Didn’t matter if he wasn’t there physically. Didn’t matter if he couldn’t speak to him, couldn’t laugh when Tommy would demand Tubbo come with him, his brattish nature overriding. Didn’t matter. Because Tubbo had already signed his life away to Tommy. He didn’t know when, when their friendship had slowly morphed into a brothership, to platonic soulmates, to something that went so deep Tubbo couldn’t really explain it.

He’d see his friend again soon, could feel it in his bones. And as long as they knew the other was alive, the other was safe, nothing else really mattered. Seeing that green, slightly faded, piece of fabric tucked up neatly under the pillow snapped something inside of Tubbo. Or maybe it fixed something that had been slowly breaking, stitching the fragmented pieces back into place.

“Until later, Will,” Tubbo said, voice clearer than it had been all day. Will nodded from where he stood, leaning against the wall as he watched Tubbo leave. The teenager gave a small salute before he pushed aside the blanket of vines and stepped out into the forest.

His hand stayed on the hilt of his sword as he picked his way through the woods, successfully avoiding the monsters of the night as he darted around trees. His breathing was heavy when he made it to the cobble bridge, but he could see the flickering lights of Manberg. But as he came over the hills, he realised that the harsh lights weren’t just from the buildings, illuminating the night.

They were coming from the kid hanging off of the flag pole with a shit-eating grin, gripping a flint and steel in his hand raised in victory, as the new Manberg flag burned bright against the dark featureless sky.

And as a chorus of panicked shouts started ringing out around the town, Tubbo raised a hand in the air in solidarity, keeping it there as the other boy climbed down the pole. Pausing at the bottom for a moment, Tubbo let his arm fall to his side, debating running to Tommy, just to prove to himself that his best friend was actually still breathing, still there, when the shouts of panic got louder.

Tubbo stood and watched as Tommy ran off into the night, lit up by the flickering flames devouring the flag. He could hear Tommy's wheezing laugh as the boy was swallowed up by the forest, leaving behind his destruction. Tubbo looked back up to the flag, neck craning. He decided he'd never seen anything as beautiful as the confetti of orange and red that fell from the sky that night.


	8. Blood Coated Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The only chance of life lies in giving up all hope of it.”

The clouds overhead were overcast, grey swirls hanging over Tommy’s head as he stormed through Dream’s land. A straggling copse of chestnut and oak and ditches of leaves and rainwater ran alongside the path. The air around Tommy was mild, still and flat as the rusting swords back in the caves. The breathing landscape around Tommy was pale and saturating, but beneath his skin was a storming, spluttering, screaming crimson flashing against his vision. 

It was quiet, a time Tommy had purposefully picked to sneak out of the ravine to go and check on his friend. All he’d found was a snapped leash, hanging like a noose from where he’d left Henry.

Wrists rolling, his sword was heavy in his hands, and Tommy had to restrain himself from slicing through every fucking thing he passed.

Henry was dead. The last thing he had that was separate from all this bullshit, the last person he’d had who had stuck by him. Hadn’t left him or betrayed him, hadn’t lost their fucking shit. Henry was dead. And Tommy was out for fucking blood.

Sapnap was such a little shit, parading through the lands as if nothing meant anything to him. He would walk through the plains humming, flint in steel in his fucking hands and a lust for destruction ablaze in his eyes. And Tommy was fine with that, as long as Sapnap stayed out of his way. He’d learned last year that if you just ignored Sapnap he’d eventually fuck off. He just wanted a reaction and would burn down a whole forest if he thought he could get one.

Even his loyalties to Dream and George were fracturing, and it seemed like Sapnap was just throwing everything to the wind and whirring through the world with chaos at his helm. And Tommy was perfectly fine with that. Until he started murdering his pets. Henry, who had done fuck all to anyone. Until Sapnap’s crippling desire for chaos and bloodshed started to set off the flickering anger in Tommy’s gut.

The anger that, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t drown. That flame that licked at his nerves, the flame that had always been there. Since he could remember, he had that burning inferno in the pit in his stomach. It was there when him and Tubbo left their village, manifesting into protectiveness, for a raging desire to keep his friend safe. And then it morphed into fortitude and determination to win during the war, the need to keep his new home safe from tyranny. But now it was raw, untamed rage, seething through his very bones. Tommy had been trying to keep a handle on it, purposefully making sure he didn’t snap

Tommy skidded across the damp wooden path with his sword raised, ready to plunge it through the next living thing he saw. Pulling his cloak over his head further, Tommy paused when he saw the silhouette of a person briskly heading toward him. Heart thudding to the point where it was almost painful, he darted behind the cliffside, back against the rocky edge as he tried to hide himself from sight. Fuck. If he got caught Wilbur would have his neck. 

Even though he wasn’t technically exiled from these lands, where Dream and Eret ruled over, he knew he wasn’t exactly welcomed with open arms here. He couldn’t trust anyone here to not aim an arrow at his forehead at the mere sight of him. And so he stayed flush against the rockface, sharp edges painfully digging into his back as he waited.

When the rushed footsteps got louder, softly padding against the wooden path, Tommy leaped out from his hiding spot, sword raised, and teeth bared. But when his eyes met soft grey ones, the same colour as the featureless sky, Tommy stumbled backwards, sword slipping from his fingers onto the ground.

“Niki?” he asked, voice trailing off into a whisper as he suddenly felt the sudden desire to just start crying, shoulders shaking slightly.

“Tommy?” Niki laughed breathlessly, pulling her hood down so the saturated sunlight kissed her face. Her lips tugged up into a smile, eyes crinkling happily, and before he knew it, he was being pulled into a loose hug, Niki throwing her arms around his neck.

_“They’ve got Niki, Will,” Tommy exclaimed as he tugged on the older man’s sleeve, trying to grab his attention. Techno stood at the side, sharpening his blade as he watched them speak in silence, head bowed slightly, pink hair creating a curtain hiding his face._

_Wilbur didn’t respond, just pulled his arm out of Tommy’s grip, brows furrowed. “We need to go help her,” Tommy explained, confused. Surely Will understood what was at risk here. Niki was their friend, and Schlatt had her. They needed to get her out of there, before he did anything to her. Before he finally lost it and started executing people, including Niki._

_“No, Tommy,” Will said, shaking his head before he started stalking through the cavern, his shadow skulking on the walls beside him._

_“The fuck do you mean_ no _?” Tommy hissed, the anger in his voice stopping Will in his tracks and enticing Techno to look up from where he sat, red eyes narrowed carefully as he watched on. “Niki is our friend, Wilbur,” he protested, fingers curling into tight fists at his side. “You’re being a dick.”_

_Wilbur looked over his shoulder slowly, brown eyes flickering in an emotion Tommy had never seen him wear before. There was a slight breeze, and it made Will’s coat rustle at his legs as he glared at Tommy, left eye twitching slightly._

_“We have_ no _more friends, Tommy. It’s just us three now, alright? We can't fucking trust anyone!” He was shouting, arm slicing through the air to exaggerate his point as Tommy took a step back, eyes widening. Wilbur didn’t seem to notice as he stalked forward, head tilted down at the younger boy. “We cannot trust Niki. She can handle herself. She’ll be fine. I am not risking our lives to save someone we cannot trust, who is locked up in a fortress we cannot breach.”_

_Tommy didn’t speak, lips parting uselessly as Will shook his head, face calming down slightly before he pushed past Tommy, disappearing into an offshoot room. Tommy stood there, feeling too sick to move for a moment. The only sounds were his faltering breaths, the dripping water falling down the cavern walls and the resumed screech of Techno’s blade being sharpened._

_Glancing down at the other man, Tommy raised an eyebrow in silent question. Technoblade sighed heavily before he shrugged, fingers stilling on his weapon. “He’s probably just tired.”_

_“He’s wrong.”_

_“He’s our leader,” he shrugged again, always so noncommittal. Tommy had realised Techno shrugged an awful lot, as if it helped him communicate at all. Sometimes he wondered why Techno had even bothered coming. All he did was farm fucking potatoes. “We do as he says, Tommy.”_

He guessed Will had been right. Niki had made it out somehow. Must’ve saved herself. Because they hadn’t, they’d refused to come to her when she’d needed them. But she still felt so frail in his hold, as he wrapped his arms around her, returning the hug. She pulled back slightly, and Tommy’s eyes dropped to her milky arms, widening when he saw the bruises kissing her flesh, angry mauve tainting her wrists.

“Niki,” he said again, name falling breathlessly from his lips. “I-” There were too many words too say, too many sentiments to comprehend and too many apologises to give. But before Tommy could get any of the burning shame and relief and regret out of his mouth, Niki was speaking, voice rushed, checking their surroundings before she tugged him back into the alcove in the rocks.

She looked different. When Will had first brought Niki to L’Manberg, Tommy had thought she was the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. And then he’d spoken to her, and Niki had brought him and Tubbo a whole plate of these ginger cupcakes, and he’d thought she was the kindest person he’d ever met.

And she still looked like herself, obviously, just hardened over a bit. Her hair wasn’t a pure, white blonde anymore, but now a dark brown, raggedly hanging at her collarbones. There were small cuts along her jaw, and her fingers, clinging onto Tommy’s arms, were threadbare and cut. She looked like a soldier, with an iron sword hanging at her waist and her jaw clenched, grey eyes storming.

“Why are you here, Tommy?” she asked, hands still on his arms, like she was scared he might disappear if she let go off him.

“Why are _you_ here?” he questioned back. How the hell had she gotten out of Manberg? And where was she staying? She certainly hadn’t come to find him or Will, so who had helped her? Niki didn’t speak, just arched an eyebrow, face deadpan.

“Henry is dead.” Was all Tommy said through gritted teeth.

“I know,” Niki murmured, face painted in empathy as she squeezed his hand. “I heard.”

“You _knew_?” Tommy hissed, wrenching his arm away from Niki’s grasp as he widened his eyes at her. But as he tried to step away, again hell bent on finding Sapnap and impaling him on his fucking sword, a hand grasped his tightly, unrelenting as Niki tugged him back into the alcove, face once again stony, like a statue craved from marble, stuck in that beautiful, petrified position for eternity.

“I didn’t know where you _were_ , Tommy,” she said, voice laced in something like accusation and a hint of desperation. “I had no idea how to let you know. I would’ve if I could’ve.”

Blinking, Tommy nodded wordlessly as his throat bobbed. He had no idea how to respond to that. Had no idea how to properly articulate how he’d wanted to find her, wanted to help. But Will had said no. And Tommy couldn't go against Will's word, because deep down he knew Will knew best. There was a reason he'd followed Will even after the war. He wondered if Niki knew. Wondered what she’d say, if she’d still help Will. If she’d stay on his side even after he abandoned her.

“It was Sapnap,” Niki said after Tommy’s voice failed him, letting go of his hand to rest on the hilt of her sword. She pulled the cloak over her head again, shadows covering her face in darkness. “I know,” Tommy replied, a looming smirk dancing over his face as his eyes flickered up to meet Niki’s, face a stamp of reprisal. Her expression paled, and she blinked before her voice dropped to a whisper.

“What did you do, Tommy?”

But before Tommy could reply, flint and steel feeling heavy in his pocket, a deep, slightly southern, drawl came from above them. Flashbacks of that voice sent vibrations through Tommy’s spine, terror gripping him before he reminded himself that the war was over, he was alright, Tubbo was alright, they were alright. He wasn't going to get hurt, not now. 

“He set Sap’s tower alight.”

Niki’s lips parted in shock before she stepped out of the alcove, eyes widening before she instantly unsheathed her sword, shakily pointing it up in the direction of the voice. Tommy followed her movement, frowning deeply as he looked up to see Dream perched on a ledge above them, a smirk obnoxiously plastered on his lips, green drawstrings swaying in the wind.

“Which is ironic,” Dream continued speaking, completely ignoring the weapon aimed at him. Tommy, like Dream, knew it was useless and that Dream could have Niki on the floor in about two moves, but he had to respect the fearlessness that painted Niki’s soft features as she glared up at him. “Since Sapnap was the resident pyro. First the flag, now this?” Dream asked, and although his face was covered by the slightly chipped mask, Tommy knew his eyes were focused on him. “You’re on a roll here, Tommy.”

Tommy couldn’t unpick Dream’s voice. Couldn’t work out if the words were accusatory, meant as an insult. Or if there was pride and respect lingering there. Tommy could never figure out the older man who pranced around like he was a God, rising above their mortal qualms.

“You’re on our side,” Tommy said, trying to keep his voice as calm as he possibly could. He didn’t ask Dream so much as state it, but he needed to hear the confirmation from the man himself. So far, he’d just received a chest that, while incredibly helpful, was something like a psychopath would send, full of weapons and incredibly rare objects, and a message through Technoblade, who refused to elaborate on his meeting with Dream.

“I am,” Dream nodded in conformation, clicking his tongue.

“But from the shadows,” Tommy muttered, repeating what Techno had told him as he looked away from the older man, who was still grinning down at them like a manic god. Suddenly there was a soft thud, and Dream had dropped down, hands slouched in his pockets as he cocked his head down at Tommy slightly.

“Sky looks pretty clear to me,” Dream said, and while his voice was still its default brash and amused, the older man left the unspoken implications of that hang in the air before he turned to the side, grinning widely down at Niki, white teeth glinting. What surprised Tommy though, was the way Niki smiled back, dimples crinkling like always, but now there was an edge to the smile, like she was sharing a secret with Dream. Two smiles, one painted from chaos marking over pride and honour, and another, laced with steel to protect from the normal gentleness beneath.

Tommy watched the two of them, slightly confused and slightly concerned, before Dream wheezed, breaking the contact with Niki, and gestured for the two of them to follow him.

And so that was how Tommy found himself striding towards Sapnap’s base, Niki and Dream behind him, iron clenched in one hand, netherite swinging in the other. Two sides of the same single-minded and indomitable coin backed him as he moved, revenge screaming through his mind. There might’ve been a revolution going on. Tommy’s family might’ve been slowly cracking, his painful aching of his heart slipping through the cracks. His home might’ve been lost to another. But Tommy shoved all of that back down, plastering over it with the crippling thirst for retribution.

“It’s time,” Tommy said to the two of them when a person appeared on the horizon, the burning tower coming up behind them as they walked, netherite sword in hand. Tommy might’ve been scared if it hadn’t been for the people rooted behind him, their own presences enough to keep him focused, keep that burning inferno in his soul contained.

Sapnap was grinning when he came into focus, the flames behind him looked as if they wrapped around the man in defence. As if they bowed to each of Sapnap's fleeting, destructive desires. Tommy would’ve moved there and then if it hadn’t been for Niki’s hand on his wrist, and the amused chastising click of the tongue that came from Dream when Sapnap’s dark eyes flicked towards him. Confusion painted the other man’s face for a split second before he blinked and it was gone, replaced with a cruel and slightly unhinged sneer.

“Hello,” Sapnap welcomed them as he stopped in his tracks, cocking his head at Tommy as he ignored Dream and Niki.

“You killed Henry,” Tommy hissed, pointing his sword in Sapnap’s direction. The older man just rolled his eyes before he shrugged. “Yes, but no,” he added with a laugh, as if this was all a game to him. It probably was.

“I was trying to take him hostage,” Sapnap explained, lying through his fucking teeth. “And he fell.” He knew Tommy knew he was lying, the laughter on his face evident that he was just trying to piss Tommy off.

“You dragged him, neck first, off a cliff,” Tommy deadpanned, sword wavering slightly. Sapnap didn’t speak, biting his bottom lip as he nodded, dark brows raised in a silent challenge. Tommy watched as he balanced his sword against his shoulders, dark eyes silently scanning over the trio in front of him.

“I hate to break it to you, Sapnap. But your tower is gone,” Tommy told him.

“No shit,” Sapnap snorted, gesturing over his shoulder to the sea of reds and golds behind him, smoke funnelling out into the sky as the tower burned and burned, a warning hissing across the entire landscape.

“Now,” Tommy started, proud that he was managing to keep himself sound reasonable, when all he wanted to do was slice that stupid fucking smirk off of Sapnap’s face. “Since you killed Henry, I think it is only fair I receive something of equal value. If you don’t want me to destroy everything you own,” he threatened, sword raising again, point aiming at Sapnap’s neck, Tommy watching as the tanned skin moved as he laughed.

“You see this Tommy?” Sapnap asked as smoke from the tower started to fog the landscape around them, pooling around their legs like a mist trying to conceal the two parties. Tommy squinted, trying to make out what Sapnap was now holding in his fingers.

When he realised, he took a step back, creasing his brow in disbelief. Sapnap’s grin widened when he saw the recognition hit Tommy. He held up the meat in his hands, and Tommy had to bite back down bile that threatened to rise in his throat. “Back up,” Sapnap hissed when Tommy started to move towards him, arms outstretched in anticipation to grab it off of the other man. Suddenly a sword was against his chest, Sapnap’s face clouding over before Dream pulled him back by his collar.

“Don’t you dare,” Tommy snarled.

Sapnap ignored him, instead turning towards Dream with a dark expression. “Dream,” he said, eyes narrowed and chin jutting out. “This is Henry’s carcass.”

“No,” Tommy said, firstly in disbelief, but as Sapnap started to fucking eat it, he started shouting it, over and over again. “No. No. No!”

Sapnap smirked at him, blood coating his lips before he wiped it away with the back of his hand. Red stained his cheek, and as Sapnap beamed at them, red teeth glared back. Niki shuddered from behind him, and Dream went very still, hand rooted on Tommy’s shoulder. And then, as Sapnap started laughing, the tether on everything that had been building up on top of each other in Tommy’s mind snapped. Dream tried to catch him as his feet pressed off of the path, but Tommy ducked, eyes trained solely on the man in front of him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he screamed, sword raised and ready to strike as he sprinted towards Sapnap. He was somewhat aware of Niki and Dream following him, the sound of their own swords whispering through the still air, slicing through the smoke. Sapnap just kept laughing, the sound painful against Tommy’s ears, as four other people came up behind him, their own swords a warning.

But Tommy didn’t stop. He brought his sword down over his head, the feeling like euphoria. As the weapon swung through the air, feeling like an extension of himself, Tommy was filled with a gritty haze, his body moving to the beat of his own breaths as Sapnap casually brought his own sword up to parry Tommy’s attack.

Blue eyes crashed against black, Sapnap grinning as he wolf-whistled when Tommy kept fighting, sword clashing against Sapnap’s with an array of scratching sounds, the sound filling the air, mixing with the smoke and ash that was falling into Tommy’s eyelashes.

“You fucked up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sapnap supremacy again 
> 
> it will be his pov next so stay tuned :)


	9. Hell Froze Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now by the laws of war, better than defeating a country by fire and the sword, is to take it without strife.”

Sapnap flicked the dirt off of his blade, nose crinkling when it fell on his boot with a splatter. He was bleeding from a cut on his face, the wound nipping irritably. Dream had given him it, face hidden behind his mask when he’d sliced forward, blade slashing and meeting skin.

Sapnap’s lips had parted, eyes darting away from Tommy to fall onto his friend. Dream had moved backwards, sword pointed at Sapnap’s chest as he took a step back, Tommy hiding behind him, his own weapon raised. Sapnap hadn’t even tried to hide the flash of betrayal that he felt cross his face. What the fuck was happening?

Dream shook his head, jaw clenched under his mask, and Sapnap couldn’t tell if it was in warning or apology. He couldn’t tell if he cared. He kept pushing forward anyway, the sounds of Tommy taking on Bad and Skeppy, and Punz and Ant gaining on Niki fading into the background. He had just kept his wide eyes on Dream, fingers twitching wildly on his sword. And he’d paused, too unsure of what to do. He couldn’t strike his best friend down. Even if he wanted to, Dream would have him unarmed in a second. But he wasn’t letting Tommy get away.

The younger boy had his back pressed to Dream’s, blond hair waving wildly in his face as Bad and Skeppy prowled towards him. He’d looked like shit, face gaunt and hollow, clothes ripped and sword blunt. But he’d held his ground, back to Dream as he snarled at the two other men gaining on him, like a crazed animal ready to attack. Like a boy who had nothing left to lose.

Tommy used to have everything to lose.

Sapnap had kept moving, slow and small steps towards Dream. It had been them, before. Had been them back to back. Grinning manically as they fought together, as they moved as one, swords slicing through the air, heavy breaths a death knell. And now they were standing on either sides, points aimed at each other’s chests. Dream clicked his tongue when Sapnap paused, faltering as he snarled down at his trembling hands, stomach clenching pitifully.

But before either of them could do anything, Sapnap’s sword lowering an inch, Tommy let out a yell of pain from behind Dream. Instantly, the older man had moved, sword dropping as he spun, holding Tommy up in his own arms as the younger boy faltered backwards, eyes wide as everyone watched the blood pool across his shirt, spreading like crimson paint.

Dream had muttered under his breath, but Sapnap couldn’t pick up the words he was saying, howling wind burying the man’s southern drawl as he spoke to the bleeding out Tommy. “It’s over Dream,” Sapnap had shrugged, small smile parting his lips.

Dream hadn’t spoken, just sheathed his sword, and picked Tommy up into his arms like how a parent might carry a sleeping child. Tommy had winced at the movement, head falling into Dream’s chest as he desperately clutched at his gut.

Sapnap had noticed Dream shoot a glance towards Niki, who was trapped in Punz’s hold, her fingers digging into his arm as she thrashed. She’d paused when Dream had looked towards her, posture apologetic but stern, and it was only when she nodded did Sapnap realise what was happening. As Dream pulled something out from his pocket, head tilting back towards his friend, who stood, arm outstretched, as if he could grab onto Dream before he did anything. But his friend was just out of his reach. Just like he’d been the whole year.

Always a step away from each other. Like one of them had been knocked off kilter, unable to communicate properly like before. Before, they’d been able to speak with their eyes, with flinches and rolling eyes and twitches of smiles. After, it was like Dream was speaking a completely different language that Sapnap couldn’t grasp, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how hard he wanted to just reach out and pull his friend back towards him, to drag them both out of this ocean that was somehow drowning them. Sapnap would freeze hell over to get his brother back to him. To intertwine their souls again, tie them back together again. So tightly it couldn't snap. Wouldn't ever snap. 

“It isn’t over until I say it is, Sap,” Dream breathed, voice low and guttural. And with that he launched the pearl he was holding into the air, clutching his arms around Tommy before they faded into nothingness. The only sign they’d been there the blood dripping down the thin stalks of grass, each plump bead of cerise a mocking reminder.

Everyone else had held their breath as Sapnap let out a frustrated scream, throwing his sword onto the ground with a wild snarl. Digging his fingers into his dark hair, he’d screwed his eyes shut, too blinded by his seething annoyance to do anything productive. He just stood there, biting down the urge to stamp his feet on the ground and shout at the sky, featureless bar the smoke funnelling across the lands from the still burning tower, wrapping around the clouds as it threatened to choke Sapnap out.

Sapnap wiped his hand against the bleeding graze Dream had gifted him, teeth bared when his knuckle came back smeared with red. Running his tongue over his teeth, he turned, cocking his head at Niki. She was tied up to a tree, wrists and ankles choked by rope. He’d waited with her as Bad and Skeppy went out to hunt down Tommy and Dream, Punz and Ant nearby as they scoured other people’s bases for potions. She was on the ground, knees pulled to her chest defensively as she fought against her restrains.

She narrowed her eyes at Sapnap when she noticed him watching her carefully, face painted in disgust. A grin breathed against his face, teeth glinting like razors and he scratched at his square jaw, black eyes fiery, as he crouched down beside her. She turned her head, brown hair falling across her collarbones as she refused to face him.

“So,” he started, hair falling in his face as he cocked his head. “What are we gonna do about our hostage?” Niki’s face flared in anger, but she didn’t speak, jaw clenching as she clamped her mouth shut. Sapnap rolled his eyes, resting his dagger against her chin, so she was forced to look at him. “Enough with the noble shit,” he sighed, leaning forward. “I’m not Wilbur or Dream, you don’t have to hold that pretty little head of yours up high. You can admit it, you’re fucked.”

Grey crashed against black furiously as he tapped the blade against her skin, teeth biting down on his bottom lip.

“Do you have a thing for getting caught?” he asked, rolling his jaw in amusement. “This is the second time you’ve been a hostage, right? And here I thought you were just a baker.”

“You’re a dickhead,” Niki snapped, eyes raging, clouded with raw fury. Now they were getting somewhere. Sapnap nodded along, lowering the steel away from her throat. “Are we gonna have to execute the hostage?” he asked softly, straightening back up as he felt another pair of eyes burning into his back.

He looked over his shoulder as he spun the dagger in his fingers, laughing brightly when his eyes fell on Tommy. The young boy was standing behind him, face far too cocky for his position. Annoyance raged through Sapnap, the violent urge to just throw a match into the woods and watch every single person here burn to ash threatening him. 

“I guess now we have our answer,” Sapnap grinned, shooting a look back at Niki. She didn’t even acknowledge him, eyes wide as she slowly shook her head at Tommy. But the teenager didn’t move, even as the four other men who’d gone out hunting and scouting reappeared from the trees, a chorus of swords slicing through the air following.

“I have something of yours, Sapnap,” Tommy smirked, eyebrows raised.

“What could you possibly have of mine?” Sapnap asked, almost bored by the amount of talking that was happening.

“And I’m going to kill it.” Tommy’s face was painted in satisfaction, blue eyes dancing as he nodded subtly to Niki, who just looked terrified as she watched the whole scene unfold.

“What could he have of yours?” Bad asked as he came up beside Sapnap, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“He doesn’t have anything.” Sapnap didn’t break eye contact with Tommy as he spoke, feeling his teeth grinding. “He’s bluffing.”

“Okay,” Tommy whistled, arrogant smile still plastered on his stupid fucking face. Tommy had always irritated the hell out of Sapnap. But it had been fun to fight against him, in the war. Sapnap was starting to think that it shouldn’t have been fun. That he missed it too much, that he missed it at all was probably not that great. But he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help that burning thirst that had been drying him up after the war. For a whole year, he’d blown across the lands, body cracking as his fingers twitched for an invisible blade, as his body searched for a heat that could only be found from a flint and steel devouring everything it its path.

_“What are you doing?”_

_“Huh?” Sapnap glanced up to find George hovering above him, eyes frowning at the match in Sapnap’s fingers. “Oh,” he shrugged, flicking the lit match into the fireplace when George sat beside him, legs in a neat basket. “Nothing. Was just cold, I guess.”_

_George hummed in response, and they sat in silence, the still air crackling around them. Sapnap just kept his eyes on the small flames, unable to bring himself to look at George. George, who didn’t sleep, who snapped more than usual. George, who didn’t, maybe couldn’t, look in mirrors anymore. George, who could barely look at Sapnap and George anymore._

_Sapnap wasn’t a fucking idiot, he was aware of the slow growing cracks forming in the trio’s friendship. Could tell that everything wasn’t like how it had been. But he just didn’t know how to fix any of it. Didn’t know what to say or what to do. So, he just watched the fire in front of him, eyes fluttering shut when the warmth licked at his face, at his hands when he let them dance above the fireplace._

_“Dream’s gone off again,” George sighed, head hanging low. Sapnap just nodded, lips pressed together awkwardly. Normally when things like this happened, when Dream disappeared and George was trying to stifle his anger, or when George would fall into days of silence and Dream was trying to not snap someone’s neck, Sapnap would just nod along. It was easier like that._

_The fire crackled, the wood below hissing as it burned. “I don’t know how long he’ll be.”_

_“He’ll come back.” Sapnap didn’t even really mean it in a comforting way, was just kind of stating more to himself than George, that Dream wasn’t going to abandon them. That Dream wouldn’t abandon them. But unlike George, who seemed to be prepared to do literally anything to stop Dream leaving, as if he could physically restrain the other man if it would get him to stay, Sapnap was just silently waiting. He knew there was nothing he could do to stop Dream from slipping away._

_So, he just let it eat him up inside at night. Let it bruise his breathing when Dream would wander off, eyes dark and face broken. He just kept it in._

_George nodded, dropping his head onto Sapnap’s shoulder with a soft sigh. “I wish that fucking war had never happened,” he hissed, voice quiet but spitting with anger and regret and frustration. Sapnap nodded along._

_He wished that the war had never stopped._

_Just so he could have something to pour all this_ feeling _into._

Sapnap was pulled back into the present when a particularly cold burst of wind murmured at the back of his neck, feeling a lot like George’s breath when his friend had fallen asleep at his side that night.

“You’ve lost your bodyguard,” Bad pointed out from beside Sapnap, gesturing to the omission of Dream beside Tommy. A flicker of hope burned in Sapnap’s chest at that. At the possibility of Dream abandoning Tommy, instead of abandoning him.

“Don’t look so menacing by yourself,” he said, eyes flickering over the young man as he nodded, pushing his chest out. He wondered where Dream had gone, subtly scanning the surroundings for the tall blond.

“Oh, I’ve got something you’re gonna find menacing Sapnap,” Tommy laughed, eyes flickering in anticipation. Sapnap flexed and unflexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword, training his face into indifference as he looked back at Tommy.

“I’ve got your fish.”

Sapnap’s lips parted as the rickety bridge he’d been balancing on, the bridge of faith and barely controlled anger and this twitch in his veins that he needed to fulfil, splintered. And Sapnap was plunged into the water, gasping for air and screaming, arms flailing.

Dream had betrayed him. Not Manberg, or L’Manberg, or Wilbur or Schlatt. Dream had betrayed _him_. Everything around Sapnap faded into nothing as he shook his head tightly, body hurting, bones aching as he clenched his jaw.

“Only one man had that fish,” he said slowly, words dripping from his mouth like poison, as Sapnap choked on his own blood. “And he wouldn’t give it to you.”

“Oh,” Tommy grinned widely. “He gave it to me, Sapnap.”

The older man’s mouth opened, but nothing came out, throat closing up. He was acutely aware of the four other men watching him carefully, Bad’s fingers brushing against his in an attempt to ground Sapnap. It didn’t work. A throaty snarl ripped from Sap’s mouth, and he was moving, dagger slashing through the air as he leapt for Tommy.

He was instantly met with Tommy’s sword, parrying all his attacks as he prowled around the younger boy, wanting, needing, to see him on the fucking ground. His vision faded as he kept going, him and Tommy trapped in a tense dance as their weapons kissed, metal screaming against metal. “I hate to say it to you,” Tommy breathed, panting heavily as he managed to escape Sapnap’s range, scrambling backwards away from the older man as he held his sword out in defence.

“Uh huh?” Sapnap pressed, sounding slightly unhinged as he stalked towards the younger boy.

“But there’s one thing I have, that you’ll never ever have.”

Sapnap’s left eye twitched erratically as he kept moving forward, weapon in his hand urging him forward, begging him to move forward, screaming, pleading for blood. He was completely alone now, George lost to the winds, Dream standing behind him with a knife coated in blood. And all he wanted was to be the harbinger of chaos, for every single person to understand how untethered he felt, for them to feel untethered too. Because who the fuck cared about anything anymore? They had all been at each other’s’ throats a year ago, ready and craving for death. And now they were all pretending that they could be civil? Reasonable?

No. Sapnap wanted fire. Sapnap wanted all of this shit to fucking burn.

“What’s that, Tommy?” he asked. The grin fell from his face when there was a snap from behind Tommy, and a figure emerged from the forest. Braided pink hair swaying, like it was part of the wind itself. A crimson cloak, clean of evidence, as it was sewn from the blood it spilled. A sword that seemed to demand the light’s attention, shadows of gold dancing across the blade. Red eyes, weary and hooded, and scars littering a face, an example, a warning.

Technoblade stood behind Tommy, sword resting against his shoulders as he narrowed his eyes down at Sapnap, head tilted up as he kissed his teeth. Tommy grinned like a maniac beside him, blond hair ruffled from the wind as it pushed waves across the lake to their side. Sapnap's watery reflection glared back up at him, eyes wide as if in horror at itself. Black eyes flashed with emotion, blood still falling from his face.

Sapnap stood completely still. Well, if he was going to be slaughtered, he’d be sure to bring down everything with him.

“I have the Blade.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all your lovely comments :D they motivate me so much so pog for that lads
> 
> thanks for reading - sorry this chapter cut off before the battle, just thought it would be better to split it up a bit :)


	10. Battle of the Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Water shapes its course according to the nature of the ground over which it flows; the soldier works out his victory in relation  
> to the foe whom he is facing."

_“What if one of them sees you?”_

_Niki bit down the urge to roll her eyes at Eret, snapping her cloak into place as she walked down the hall towards the entrance of his castle. “They’re not going to see me,” she dismissed, waving a nonchalant hand as Eret followed her, his long legs easily taking over her. He strode a couple steps ahead before he spun on his heels and started walking backwards so he could look at her, pale eyes wide and pleading. “Niki, come on, it’s not worth it. Not right now.”_

_“He’s worth it to me, Eret,” Niki said, voice quiet but tone stern. She raked her calloused hands through her hair as they walked, pulling her hair into a loose braid, fingers nimble and quick. She’d always had fast fingers, used to kneading bread and avoiding the heat of a stove. It hadn’t taken long to transfer those skills to throwing a dagger from hand to hand, to nocking back arrows and aiming, eyes narrowed. Especially with Eret’s help._

_Eret, who’d taken her in when she’d turned up on his doorstep, torn dress and tears of anxiety and frustration and relief pooling down her face. Eret, who’d promised to help her help Will and Tommy as soon as they could. Eret, who’d taught her how to properly hold a sword, curling her fingers in the correct position, straightening her back. Eret, who smiled easily, arms always open when Niki would wake up with a throat hoarse from screaming, invisible chains wrapped around her body again._

_“Are you sure?” Eret asked, face flickering in vexation. “Are you sure he’d say the same, Niki?"_

_“Of course he would,” Niki frowned, brows furrowing. “He’s my friend.”_

_“Then where is_ he _, Niki? Where’s Wilbur? He didn’t come for you; we haven’t even heard a whisper from him or Tommy in weeks,” Eret protested, hands out to stop Niki in her tracks. She didn’t reply, gritting her teeth as she made to step around him. But Eret moved quicker, long fingers brushing Niki’s wrist in an attempt to stop her._

_She paused, both of their eyes falling onto the thin silver scar that wrapped around Niki’s skin, Eret’s fingers brushing against it. “I’m sorry,” he said immediately, face overcome with guilt as fingers fell away._

_“It’s okay,” Niki breathed, her own fingers whispering over the skin. “I need to go find him, Eret. We…” she trailed off, shaking her hair before she shrugged helplessly, suddenly overwhelmed with the crippling need to find her friend. “I made a promise to him, years ago. I’m not abandoning him now.”_

_Eret nodded soberly, lips pressed together as he stepped to the side, letting Niki past. “Please don’t die, Niki,” he called after her as she neared the corner, shouldering her cloak further over herself. “You’re all I’ve got.”_

_She smiled, a mix of wistfulness and determination painting her face. “Thank you, Eret. For everything.”_

_And with that she turned, leaving Eret behind in his stone castle as she shoved open the wooden doors. They released with a groaning heave, and the wind instantly bit at Niki’s cheeks as she stepped out into the open. She would find Will. And she would keep her promise she’d made to the wind-swept boy on that beach. Dark eyes wide and vulnerable, skin cold against hers._

_“_ _When you’ve sorted everything out. I’ll come to you.” She had told Will that, gripping his hands in hers. And maybe Will hadn’t sorted everything out this time. Maybe he had disappeared with his brothers, all the family he had left, into thin air. But maybe Niki could help him this time. Maybe they could go on this voyage together. She had another chance, a second chance, to grip Will’s hand in hers and not let go. To go with him. And this time she would._

_She would find her Will. And keep her promise._

Niki’s breath caught in her throat as she watched the scene unfold in front of her. The wind roared against the lake beside them, waves whispering towards the soldiers on the banks, meekly luring them towards the deepness, pleading to claim their bodies, to choke out the air. But the soldiers ignored the call of the lake’s murmuring, instead focusing on each other and their swords.

Technoblade stood beside Tommy, unmoving and unaffected as Sapnap snarled, unsheathing his sword. Niki kept still, scared of accidentally grabbing the four other men’s attention, as they took their places behind Sapnap, standing tall against the unbeatable feat that stood before them. But then her eyes fell on Ant, standing slightly behind the rest of them, eyes flickering between Sapnap and Tommy uncertainly, and she realised that this might be the best possible chance she was going to get.

“Ant,” she whispered, leaning as forward as she could, ropes digging into her stomach. He ignored her, or well, he tried to. But the man flinched slightly, eyes widening and throat bobbing as he kept his attention ahead. “Ant, please,” she quietly pleaded, biting her bottom lip as the man closest to her turned his head, eyes meeting hers. “Be reasonable,” she said, awkwardly shuffling against the constrictions, bark digging uncomfortably into her back. “You know this isn’t right. We can stop this now. Techno will slaughter them. Will slaughter your friends. Just untie me, Ant. Please, untie me and we can-”

“I can’t,” he said, voice stern but his slightly trembling jaw betraying the guilt lying under his skin. Niki opened her mouth to plead, to beg, but both of them turned when Techno spoke for the first time.

“I was having a good sleep,” the man growled, voice low and accusatory as he brought his sword from where it lay against his shoulder, to point lazily at Sapnap. The other man just grinned manically, hand brushing along his square jaw as he laughed.

Sapnap laughed too loudly. Everyone stiffened bar Techno, who only looked a little annoyed as the tanned soldier chuckled away to himself. Niki pushed her tongue into the inside of her cheek as Tommy crinkled his nose in confusion at Sapnap, and Techno slid his bright red eyes towards her. He didn’t speak, only tilted his head slightly, pink hair dancing behind his back as he watched her watch him.

Niki had no idea what it meant, but she took it as a warning. A warning to stay out of the hell the man was about to unleash.

“You think I’m scared of him?” Sapnap asked once he’d stopped hysterically laughing, hand coming up to his brow to wipe away imaginary sweat. His voice dropped as he took a step forward, rolling back his shoulders. “You think I’m scared of the guy who’s only here because his younger brothers got themselves stuck in a shitty situation that they can’t seem to fight their way out of? A situation that _you_ caused, by the way,” Sapnap added, voice bitter and painted in resentment. “Aren’t you getting tired of people fighting your battles for you, Tommy?”

The younger boy’s face flashed with rage, jaw locking and unlocking as he looked at Sapnap, the slight unhinged pyromaniac standing in front of him. But before Tommy could speak, Techno was stepping forward, lightly pushing the boy behind him, keeping him out of Sapnap’s reach.

The tanned man’s black eyes snapped up to meet Techno’s, lips curled in annoyance. “And where are _your_ brothers?” Techno asked, voice dangerously quiet. Sapnap snarled, teeth bared as the wind whipped his hair around his face.

“Right behind me,” he objected, but everyone had heard the hesitation. Had heard the crack in the man’s voice. The omission of George and Dream said everything Technoblade didn’t need to.

“Sure, they are,” Techno nodded slowly, drawling voice laced in mockery. Niki held her breath as Sapnap rolled his jaw before clenching his fingers around the hilt of his sword tightly, pointing it at Technobade’s direction. As they spoke, Niki was tempted to try and reason with Ant again, but the man had moved, now firmly standing behind Sapnap, head held high. She watched from her removed position, as the tension in the air cracked dangerously.

Niki sighed against the ropes, when suddenly there was a flash of green. Dream was in front of her, lowered in a crouch so he was at eye-level with her. “Hey,” he smirked, mask not covering the shit-eating grin he was wearing.

“Hi,” Niki laughed breathlessly, nodding eagerly when Dream gestured to keep quiet, checking behind him as Sapnap and his goons talked to Technoblade and Tommy. “You’re oh for two, by the way,” Dream breathed as he leaned forward to slice through the bindings around her waist. Niki frowned up at him. His face was close to hers, and she realised how chipped the mask really was. She’d never seen the man’s face in its entirety, but from here she could see his eyes; a pale green the colour of algae and seaweed blown onto the shore, and his small scars littered across his neck, silver and pale pink against tan skin.

“As in I’ve saved your life twice now,” he elaborated, and Niki couldn’t help but respect the looseness in his voice, as the situation around them threatened to send her spiralling.

“Oh really?” she asked, rubbing her wrists after he cut through those ropes too. “I guess I’ll have to make it up to you,” she muttered as he held out a hand to help her up, tanned hands rough and calloused against her own.

“I’ve got an idea,” the man said, southern drawl laced in amusement, accompanying the smirk on his face well. He was the stark opposite of Tommy and Techno, who carried themselves soberly, as if the weight of the world hung on their shoulders. Dream held himself like he danced along the threshold of immortality. As if this was a mere game to the man. Niki couldn’t bring herself to fault him for it as their hands fell apart and Dream passed her a long iron sword.

“Don’t die,” he finished as she took the sword into her own hands, rolling the weapon in her fingers. “And I want to know how to bake pumpkin pie.”

“That we can do,” Niki nodded, turning to face the others, who were starting to notice she wasn’t still tied up to the tree. Skeppy caught on first, spinning around on his heels quickly as he fumbled with his own weapon, trying to quickly pull his bow taunt, dark brows knitted as he glared at Niki. But before he could move forward, Dream sidestepped in, one hand slouched in his hoodie pocket, the other holding the sword now pressed lightly against Skeppy’s throat.

“I wouldn’t,” the taller man clicked his tongue, and although he was essentially warning Skeppy, as well as the four other men watching on in a mix of fear and frustration, his voice was dripping in hilarity.

“Sapnap, this is your one and only chance to surrender.” Everyone turned slowly to look towards Tommy, who was watching Sapnap carefully, like he thought the man might snap at any moment. But Sapnap didn’t move, back to Tommy as his dark eyes scanned over Dream and Niki standing beside each other, heads held high as tension crackled in the air between the two men.

“You really want to do this?” Tommy asked, blond hair swaying, blue eyes glinting in confidence.

The lake was making the air harsher, scratching across Niki’s cheeks. It was only as she stood there beside Dream, did she realise they were the only two not wearing any armour. It was probably a choice for the man beside her, the lime sweater a threat to anyone who knew of him. But Niki was standing with her scrappy braid. She was wearing one of Eret’s shirts, and it hung on her shoulders loosely, tucked into her jeans. Not the best for fighting, she supposed.

She felt out of place, like an impostor as Dream ran his fingers down his blade, not looking away from Sapnap. A black sweater peeked up under his signature hoodie, the fabric covering his neck, as if Dream wanted to hide every single piece of his humanity. As Technoblade wetted his lips, eyes hungry for the fight, face twitching uncomfortably as he pulled his cloak off to reveal just white shirt and black trousers, somehow perfectly clean. As Tommy waited for Sapnap’s response, self-assured as the piece of green fabric tied around his wrist whispering as the wind brushed against all of them. His t-shirt was stained from his injury from before, and Niki could make out the familiar shape of tied bandages huddled under his clothing. 

Niki shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she stood beside Dream, clenching and unclenching her fingers around the sword’s hilt. Sapnap and his group were surrounded, her and Dream on one side of them, Techno and Tommy on the other. There was no way they could win, they had to know that.

“I think we’ll take this fight.” Sapnap’s voice was cold, face empty and gaunt as he looked over his shoulder to meet Tommy’s gaze. Niki’s breathing hitched. Dream stiffened beside her, back straightening as Sapnap dropped his eyes to look towards Tommy.

“If you fight us now, the fish gets it,” the younger boy warned, lips pressed together in a firm line. The wind screamed around them, branches on the trees shuddering. Sapnap sighed lowly, fully turning so him and Tommy were standing facing each other. Niki blinked as she realised Tommy was taller.

“Yeah Tommy, you wouldn’t,” Sapnap murmured, eyes flashing with emotion. Bad stepped forward so he was next to Sapnap, his own axe glinting dangerously in the man’s hands.

“If you harm that fish, I will burn your disc,” Bad warned, and Niki watched as Tommy’s face fell slightly, confidence faltering at the mention of his discs. Niki hadn’t been here for the last war, for the discs. But she knew how much they meant to Tommy, knew they symbolised some sort of peaceful nostalgia for the boy, even if Tommy didn’t know it himself.

“Wait, you have the disc?” Tommy asked, voice wavering slightly as he stepped forward, sword. Niki was the only one who noticed as Techno moved silently, keeping beside Tommy, protection clearly his top priority. Bad just hummed in response.

“I’m not giving the fish back. So, either you hand the disc back over for the fish, or we fight this out and we keep your things.” Tommy snarled, anger rippling over his soft features.

“Then we fight it out,” Sapnap announced, wind carrying his words into the landscape around them. There was silence for a split second, the only sound everyone’s breathing and the hush of the lake beside them.

And then Tommy moved, feet leaving the ground as he leapt forward, bringing his sword down over his head. It met Sapnap’s with a screech of metal, the older man laughing as he went to swipe Tommy’s legs. But the younger boy was quick, dodging the strike as he brought his sword down, aiming for Sapnap’s chest.

After that, pandemonium broke out.

Dream vanished from beside her, attacking Skeppy and Punz head on. Taking a shaky breath in, Niki followed suit, sword up and ready when she felt someone behind her. Turning on her heels, she bent down as she spun, leg out as she dropped Ant to the ground. He coughed after his back hit the ground with a thud, rolling out of the way before Niki could aim her sword at him, back on his feet in a second. She held the blade even, a perfect, undaunted horizon as it weighed down in her fingers. The black leather wrapped around the hilt scratched against her palms.

“I’m sorry,” Ant breathed, eyes pained but face determined as he pushed forward, stronger and faster than Niki. His sword swung through the air, cleaving towards her legs. Niki tried to stumble away but readied herself for the sting of the blade that was coming. But instead of her skin ripping apart, Ant yelped out in pain. When Niki looked up, her eyes widened when she saw Technoblade on Ant, red eyes unyielding as Ant’s sword fell from his fingers, and his hands instantly went to the seeping red coming from his stomach.

Niki raced forward and kicked the discarded sword away so no one could grab it, breathing heavy as Technoblade aimed his sword at Ant, who was leaning on a tree, face contorted in pain as his own blood painted his fingers. Techno tilted his head to the side to check over Niki, who smiled softly in thanks, ignoring the way her own hands were trembling.

“You lose.” The two of them turned to see Tommy standing over Sapnap, whose face was bleeding from a gash on his forehead, blood rubbed all over his skin, staining his lips. He was still holding his sword, but it was hanging loosely in his fingers, as Tommy held his own shaking weapon in Sapnap’s direction.

Dream was standing near him, one foot pressed onto Skeppy who was lying on the floor, unarmed. Punz was nowhere to be seen. And Bad was just watching on in fear, eyes wide as Skeppy gave him a tight shake of the head from where he lay.

Sapnap didn’t speak as he pushed himself up onto his feet, lips curling at Tommy. “Fuck you,” he spat.

“ _You lose!_ ” Tommy screamed, something snapping in him as his voice broke. A fresh red was now decorating his shirt, but Tommy didn't seem to notice. Sapnap slowly grinned, swaying on his feet slightly. Niki frowned, moving to go to Tommy, as the boy was clearly breaking down in front of them, but felt a strong hand on her shoulder before she could. Techno slowly shook his head, pink hair falling as he watched on.

“Admit you lose, dickhead,” Tommy yelled, voice dry against the silent air. Sapnap sighed, clicking his tongue before he turned his head, scanning the frozen sight around him. He hesitated when his eyes fell on Dream, throat bobbing. Niki flinched when Sapnap tossed his sword into the dry mud, shrugging. “I lose,” he laughed humourlessly, raking two hands through his black hair. “I lose.”

“You’re the worst, Sapnap,” Tommy scowled, but his shoulder seemed to relax. “The absolute wor-” Before he could finish, his knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground with a sickening thud. Technoblade was instantly moving, a flash of red and pink as he sprinted past Niki, sheathing his sword. He crouched down beside Tommy, tenderly pushing the boy’s damp hair out of his face before he picked him up in his arms. His face stayed unmoving as always, but his eyes were screaming in panic, scanning over Tommy’s unconscious body as he straightened up, arms straining.

“We need to go,” Techno said, low voice breaking the taciturnity as he held Tommy to his chest. Dream nodded wordlessly, taking his foot off of Skeppy. Niki opened her mouth to shout out in warning when the man on the ground made to move, arm shooting out towards his axe, when Dream smashed his foot down onto his hand. The blood-curdling sound of echoing snapping bones wailed around the clearing.

Skeppy screamed out in pain, tears gathering in his eyes as he cradled his hand to his chest, rolling onto his back. Niki’s lips parted in a mix of shock and horror at the raw violence as Bad rushed to Skeppy, speaking in whispers to the man withering in pain.

Dream picked up Skeppy’s sword and fastened it to his belt before he joined Technoblade and Tommy. And then he pulled a pearl out of his pocket and threw it into the distance after he looped his arm through Techno’s, turning to look at the unconscious Tommy in the other man's arms before they vanished.

“Wait!” Niki called out, because they’d forgotten she was here, in the panic and the violence and Tommy, they’d forgotten she was here, and she needed to go with them to see Will, and –

She paused in her tracks when they dissipated into nothing, head hanging. Her hair was falling out of her braid, waving in front of her face as tears of frustration threatened to fall. Her chance was right there, her chance to find Wilbur, after months, to finally help him, to finally get their home back. And now they were gone, forgetting about her again.

“Sucks doesn’t it?”

She looked over her shoulder to find Sapnap still standing there, leaning against a tree as he tilted his head up to the grey sky. Skeppy and Bad had left at some point, leaving her and the pyromaniac psychopath alone. Just them and the lake. “I wouldn’t take it personally,” he breathed, voice shaky and face tired. “Dream never really sticks around. Guess Techno doesn't either.” Niki watched, silent, as he pulled a flint and steel out from his trouser pocket, calloused fingers lightening it and extinguishing it. Over and over.

She properly looked at him then, taken aback a bit by how young he looked. He was only about a year older than her; she was pretty sure. Square jaw with a poorly grown, patchy beard, betraying the vulnerability that he tried to hide through the crooked smiles and the shallow jokes. His dark eyes were weary, blinking slowly down at the tiny flame in his fingers.

“You can go, by the way,” he spoke, head snapping up to look at her. “I’m not going to kill you now. There would be no point.” She didn’t move for a moment, the two of them, the two people left behind in the aftermath just watching each other, grey and black eyes both pained.

“Goodbye Sapnap,” Niki breathed before she stepped away, wrapping her arms around herself as she headed back in the direction of Eret’s castle. Sapnap didn’t respond, just went back to flickering with his flames as he dropped down onto the ground, knees to his chest.

As Niki picked her way back, trainers scuffing the ground, she could hear a solemn voice singing quietly behind her, a soft and scratchy humming accompanying her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading and for the continuous support! :D


	11. Though we Don't Share the Same Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If his forces are united, separate them.”
> 
> Tommy gets a fresh cut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> calm before the storm amiright

Tommy woke up with a slight throbbing ache in his side. Eyes blinking open, he was met with the usual rocky ceiling, the golden light from the torches littering the cavern sending a comforting glow cascading over Tommy. He sat up, grunting slightly at the stiffness he felt in his bones.

Leaning against the wall, he tossed the orange blanket off of himself, brows knitting when he found calico fabric wrapped tightly around his torso. It was neat, the fabric folded sharply and tied with a little knot at the edge. There was no chance in hell Will had done it, his bindings were always sloppy and scrappy, normally decorated with bloodied fingerprints. He shivered slightly and grabbed a spare sweater from the edge of the mattress and tugged it over his head. He was pretty sure it was Will’s, loosely hanging off his shoulders and falling to his thighs, but clothing was sparse around the ravine, so it would have to make do.

“I changed them about an hour ago.” Tommy looked up to find Techno walking up the stone staircase, footsteps light as he entered the small room, rifling through a chest. “You should be fine for the rest of the day.” Tommy nodded wordlessly, even though his friend couldn’t see him, mindlessly picking at the fraying sleeves of the sweater. After a couple minutes of silence, and after Techno had pulled out a bucket from the chest with a satisfied hum, he arched a brow at Tommy, who was sitting on the bed, knees pulled to his chest.

“What’s wrong?” The older man asked, face tight, as if the only thing stopping him from completely ignoring the unusual silence from Tommy was the buried feelings of kinship he held for the boy. “Does it hurt?” he questioned, gesturing with the bucket to Tommy’s chest.

The younger boy shook his head, long blond hair falling in his face. “I miss Henry,” he muttered, picking at the skin around his nails, refusing to make eye contact with Techno. His cow had been the last thing he had that was removed from the war, the last thing connecting right now to the old life he missed so painfully. And now Henry was dead. All the anger he’d felt for Sapnap was gone now, leaving only a dull throbbing in his heart.

Tommy looked up; brows knitted when he felt a dip in the mattress. Techno was sitting beside him, looking incredibly uncomfortable as he placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. He didn’t speak, just kept his hand on Tommy, patting him slowly, but Tommy appreciated the gesture, nonetheless. He leaned into the touch, burying his head in his knees as silent tears clung to his jaw. Technoblade didn’t comment, just rubbed comforting circles on Tommy’s back, shuffling closer as his tears ebbed over slightly. Tommy couldn’t even bring himself to feel embarrassed, the loss of Henry finally sinking in for the first time.

“You need a haircut,” Techno pointed out after a moment, ruffling the younger boy’s head as Tommy looked up with bleary eyes. The younger boy scowled, elbowing Techno sharply to the side, before he stood up, bare feet brushed by the cool ground.

Pushing his tongue into his cheek, he peered down at his reflection in the shield that lay against the furnace, a distorted version of himself blinking up at him. His cheeks were kissed with red, blue eyes pale and rimmed with dark bags. He tugged on his blond hair, nose crinkling as he turned his head. He guessed it _was_ pretty long, curling at the nape of his neck and flopping pathetically into his eyes.

“Fine,” he grumbled, turning back to face Technoblade, who was already halfway down the stairs back down to the main cavern, white sleeves rolled up his arms as he readied himself to go back to his farming. “But not too short,” Tommy warned before he started rummaging through the box under the bed that Will kept all their medical equipment in.

“What are you talkin bout?” Techno’s monotone voice rose up from the stairs. But Tommy didn’t answer until he found what he was looking for, grinning widely as he pulled out a pair of long scissors that had been part of Fundy’s first aid kit before Tommy stole them on a scouting mission a couple of weeks ago. He normally stole shit from Fundy’s when it was his turn to scavenge, enchanting books, seeds and fabric for clothes. Tommy didn’t even really care what he could steal, as long as it was Fundy’s, the bastard.

“I can’t cut it myself, can I?” Tommy snorted when he joined Techno on the stairs, the older man widening his eyes before he shook his head firmly, pink hair swaying, ignoring Tommy as he continued down, bucket swinging in his hands.

“ _You’re_ the one who pointed it out!” The younger boy protested, hissing as he tried to dodge loose rocks jagging into his feet as he took the stairs two at a time. “You’ve made me all self-conscious,” he frowned, folding his arms when Techno paused with a sigh.

They stayed like that for a moment, glaring at each other, neither wanting to back down. Tommy didn’t blink, narrowing his eyes at the older man. Technoblade didn’t budge, eyebrows raised as his crimson eyes looked down at Tommy. So, Tommy decided he needed to switch tactics, lips suddenly dropping down into a pout, clutching the scissors to his chest. “ _Please_?” he begged softly, emphasising his point by blowing a stray blond wave out of his face as dramatically as he could.

Techno half sighed half groaned in annoyance, shoulders sagging as he rolled his eyes. But he begrudgingly extended his arm to Tommy. The younger boy smirked widely as he placed the scissors in Techno’s pale hand, raking two hands through his hair for the last time.

An hour later, Tommy found himself fidgeting on a cobble stair, hands clasped together as Techno stood behind him, the sound of the scissors cutting and his friend grumbling under his breath echoing around their home. “Are you almost done?” Tommy whined, squirming as more chopped hair fell onto his neck, tickling against his skin.

“It would go a lot quicker if you would. Just. Sit. Still,” Techno said, voice exasperated, as he lightly but firmly moved Tommy’s head back into position, brushing off the hair that had fallen onto his shoulders.

“Don’t nick me again,” Tommy scowled, the graze Techno had given him nipping slightly. The older man didn’t deign that with a response, flicking Tommy’s temple with a finger in warning before he went back to work.

“What happened to Dream and Niki?” Tommy asked, tapping his feet against the ground as he tried to fight off his boredom. Maybe asking Techno to do this was a mistake, even Tommy was bored out of his mind now, and he knew it was hard for Techno to concentrate for a long period of time. But before he could tell his friend they could stop, that Tommy didn’t care what his hair looked like really, Techno started speaking.

“When you passed out from the wound, Dream pearled us away before Sapnap or anyone could start attackin’ again,” Techno trailed off, air still as he paused, fingers stilling on Tommy’s head, curling around a long strand. “I forgot about Niki.”

“ _What_?” Tommy demanded, about to move his head when Techno kept his hands on him, scissors quickly moving again. “How could you forget? She was meant to come back here with us. Schlatt fucked her up, I saw these bruises on her wrist. She was looking for us, wanted to find Will and help us take down Schlatt. What if he finds her again and-”

“It was a mistake,” Technoblade admitted, cutting off Tommy’s ramble, and his stomach clenched at the tone of Techno’s voice, strained and laced in guilt. “But you were injured. I’d do it again.” Tommy didn’t move, fingers stilling on his thighs as he bit his bottom lip. He tried to imagine what he would’ve done, if Tubbo was injured, and the threat of attack was imminent.

“Thanks, I guess,” he breathed, feeling Techno pause for a second, before he went back to cutting along the long bits of hair at the front of Tommy’s head, fingers cold against Tommy’s warm skin. Techno didn’t reply, but a comfortable silence washed over them as the two friends, two brothers, sat in the ravine they had slowly carved into a home.

Techno’s rough voice declaring that he was done was Tommy’s signal to stand up, spinning on his heels to meet Techno’s eyes with a grin. “Well?” he asked, cocking his head to the side when Techno’s looked at him blankly, face slightly amused, a mollified pride etched onto his face, tusks peering out of his small smile. “How does it look?”

“Shorter than it did an hour ago,” Techno replied dryly as he brushed the scissors against his trousers. Rolling his eyes, Tommy grabbed Techno’s sword from where it was propped up against the ladder, using it to see his reflection. It was a lot shorter than it had been an hour ago, maybe a bit too short. But Tommy liked the way it felt as he raked his hand through it, like a bunch of tiny blades of grass. Liked the way Techno had cut it for him and liked how it had taken an hour for the man to be finally satisfied enough to let Tommy stand up. Liked how he looked older, with the sides clipped and the top less unruly and feral.

Before he could smile at himself some more, the sound of a familiar set of rushed footsteps echoed down the stairs. Tommy carefully placed the sword back where he’d found it before he waited at the bottom of the stairs, grinning wildly when a bird’s nest of brown hair appeared around the corner. Tubbo laughed loudly before he tumbled into Tommy, wrapping his arms around him as they both landed on the ground in a heap of limbs. He hadn’t seen his friend in a week now, Tubbo not able to find a convenient time to sneak away from Schlatt. But the familiar sight of his friend set everything back in order in Tommy’s mind, like he was pushed slightly off-kilter every time Tubbo left, and the only thing that could ever help him back was the sound of Tubbo’s shoes against stone, signalling his return. Tommy had memorised the sound of Tubbo’s footsteps, replaying the sound over and over in his mind when he couldn’t sleep, stored it away with all his memories of their little brick house and orange tulips and the way Tubbo would always put too much flour in cakes.

He’d keep all of those feelings and memories close to his heart until Tubbo would reappear, and he didn’t need them anymore. But Tubbo’s visits were scarce, and normally used up with Will noting down everything Tubbo had to report back to them.

But Tommy understood that was how it went. Tubbo was a spy, and needed to make sure all his tracks were covered. And if not seeing his best friend for a few days was what kept Tubbo safe, Tommy was alright with that. He’d do anything to keep his friend safe.

Tommy winced slightly as the wound on his chest screamed out at the contact, and Tubbo pulled back concerned. He opened his mouth to speak, when his eyes drifted up, and he let out a hysterical laugh. “You cut your hair!” he choked out in between chuckles, experimentally fluffing up Tommy’s blond hair.

“Technically, Techno cut it,” Tommy pointed out, lightly pushing the other boy off of him so they could both stand up.

“I like it,” Tubbo said as he brushed his black slacks down, dust and dried dirt falling off easily. “You stayin’ for dinner, Tubbo?” Techno asked, poking his head out from the room they’d carved out to be a makeshift kitchen.

“Depends on what you’re having,” Tubbo said, loosening the green tie that lay against his white shirt as he made his way towards Techno, leaving Tommy in the main cavern alone. His nose crinkled as Tubbo and Techno’s voices faded, the last thing he heard was ‘Potatoes again?” coming from Tubbo, before he sat down on the steps.

Red was slowly seeping through the sweater, and Tommy’s breathing hitched as he peered down to see his bandages streaked with sticky red. Swearing under his breath, Tommy stood, making to go and ask Techno where he kept the fabric, when his vision spotted, head swimming, stomach clenching uneasily, and Tommy dropped back down. He gripped the stairs so tightly his fingers hurt, screwing his eyes shut as a hot firework of pain echoed across his chest.

“Is that my jumper?” Tommy opened his eyes to meet brown ones, attached to a pissed off looking Will standing over him. He nodded, throat bobbing as he tried to ground himself, trying to ignore the throbbing discomfort. “ _Tommy_ , you’ve stained it,” Will sighed, looking down at Tommy like he was a misbehaving child, rather than an equal, which is what Will had promised to treat Tommy as.

“Sorry,” he muttered, glancing down at the mustard fabric.

“It’s fine,” Will shrugged, waving a dismissive hand, even though Tommy could still see the tethered annoyance plastered on his face. “Just don’t do it again. And,” he added, brows lowered as his jaw clenched slightly. “Don’t start another fucking fight with Sapnap again. The twat’s lost his mind,” he muttered, eyes clouding over slightly at the mention of the black-haired man.

“He killed Henry,” Tommy objected, standing up on shaky legs so Will wasn’t looking down at him anymore. Empathy crossed over his friend’s face as he nodded, hand on Tommy’s shoulder. But Will’s hand didn’t feel like Techno’s, warm and soothing, but aloof and placating.

“Not worth risking your life over it,” Will said, voice unusually cool, as he started off towards where Tubbo and Techno were cooking, boots hitting the ground with a sharp sound, ringing around Tommy’s already sore head.

“What if it was worth it to me?” Tommy questioned, a sudden flare of anger bursting aflame in his chest. He didn’t understand why Will was being such a dickhead about it. It wasn’t like any of them had died. _He_ was the only one injured, and he thought it was worth it, to bring a sense of justice to his dead pet’s murder.

“I don’t care if it was worth it to you,” Will snapped, voice low. “You do not rush into stupid fucking fights you cannot win like that,” Will shook his head, his shadow on the wall glaring at Tommy.

“I won,” Tommy bit back, ignoring the dangerous glint in Will’s eyes.

“No,” he said, chuckling slightly. “Techno won. Dream won. You got injured, like you always do, Tommy.” Throat bobbing, Tommy took a small step back, blinking up at his brother. “Stop forcing everyone to look after you. If you want to start petty, meaningless fights, you can finish them yourself, alright?”

Tommy didn’t know why he nodded, when he really wanted to punch something really fucking hard, but Wilbur sighed, satisfied, and gestured for Tommy to follow him. “So, what are we having?” he asked with a restrained smile when they paused in the rocky threshold, watching as Tubbo scrubbed potatoes and Techno sliced.

“Potatoes,” Tubbo sighed, receiving a light jab from Techno at his dejected tone.

“This time they’re in a soup,” Techno offered, not looking up from his knife as he kept cutting, the sound painful to Tommy’s ears as he clutched at his chest. Will walked over to Techno, offering to help as the two started laughing at something. Tubbo frowned when he noticed Tommy lingering in the doorway, mouthing, are you okay, to his friend.

Tommy nodded, forcing a smile on his lips as he slid down at the table, watching his three friends laugh together, flicking water onto each other as the smell of cooking potatoes and carrots filled the air.

Will was probably right. Tommy hadn’t needed to start a literal battle over his pet. He could’ve ignored Sapnap, but instead he just gave him what he wanted – a reaction. And he’d pulled Technoblade into it as well, put his friend at risk. Will was right.

And he probably hadn’t meant to be so curt. Tommy knew Will was tired, and he’d snapped back anyway. They were all tired, all working with three hours of sleep a night. Were all living in a goddamn cave, for fucks sake. What did Tommy expect when his friends hadn’t seen the light from the sun in days?

Of course, they were going to fight. Friends fought. Him and Will had fought before, this was no different.

So why was this one cutting deep? Why was this one more painful than the slowly bleeding wound in his torso? One left by a blade from an enemy, the other left by whispers and words from a brother. Tommy bit his lip, eyes training on the surface of the table. It was fine, they were fine. Will was just tired, just on a short fuse. He didn’t think about how Will hadn’t mentioned Niki, how Will refused to bring up her name. Didn’t think about how Will hadn’t asked if he was alright. Didn’t think about how Will hadn’t even noticed his haircut.

They were fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah it was meant to be all domesticity brother vibes but then...sorry :D
> 
> thanks for reading and all the kudos and lovely comments!


	12. My God is Gonna Owe Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Anger may in time change to gladness; vexation may be succeeded by content. But a kingdom that has once been destroyed can never come again into being; nor can the dead ever be brought back to life.”
> 
> Dream go brbrbrbrb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah I accidentally added this to Doomsday at first lmao sorry about that but here we go :)

Schlatt was a hollow man. He stood above his fortress of woven gold, looking out onto the dead land that breathed of his betrayal. The lights of Manberg hid his lies in the shadows, the soft rushing rivers singing over the screams of betrayal. He bred chaos, drunk in the panic he fed with each speech, with every passing day he bathed in the pain that silently wailed over the lands.

And Dream was just watching as everything crumbled around him.

As George stood, head tilted and eyes empty behind Schlatt, unwilling to fight any longer, whitish and saturated, suit like coal against ashen skin. Skin that Dream no longer got to touch, hitching breath that he didn’t get to feel against his neck anymore.

As Sapnap screamed behind his laughter, flames licking at his fingers, threatening to get too close to burning up his soul as he prowled the fields alone. White headband torn and flimsy, eyes darker than they’d ever been before. Face unrecognisable, tainted with bitterness and a raging hopelessness.

As Wilbur vanished off the face of the Earth, hiding down in his dark, dark ravine, refusing to come out and see the light of the day. Feral eyes scanning constantly, hair on the back of his neck always standing, body aching but soul screaming as it was plunged into a dark abyss, unable to drag itself out.

As Niki searched for her friends, shoes scuffing the ground as she walked and walked and walked. Soft features turning hard, fingers wrapped around a bow instead of a bowl, arrows taunt and face gaunt.

As Technoblade moved through the domain like a wraith, pink hair falling with his sword, piercing red eyes shining as he tried to control that old bloodlust, the one Dream had seen before, the one Techno tried to hide, for himself, for others. That crippling bloodlust that his brothers were threatening to lure out again, weaponize their own friend for their own gain.

As Quackity trailed after Schlatt, under the pretence of a partnership. With each smile Schlatt shared with him, friendship rooting further. One-sided friendship leading the path for Schlatt to walk down, after stamping over Quackity’s body to get there.

As Tubbo’s strings were tugged sharply, threatening to snap the boy’s bones. Schlatt on one side, matching tie snaking around Tubbo’s neck. Wilbur on the other, easy smile laced with oleander pink.

As Tommy stumbled in the dark, desperately searching for something he was never going to find. As he tripped on his own blades, the steel impaling him, blood trickling down his neck, drowning him out as he silently screamed.

Dream wondered if they all were aware of each other’s problems. If they were even aware of their own. Sometimes he felt separate, as he picked his way through the forests, leaping from tree to tree, sword strapped to his back as he swung, fingers always meeting bark. As he watched on, unsure of where he stood, loneliness creeping over his body like a curse.

He stood outside of Manberg’s borders, making sure his mask was properly in place before he stepped forward. He shoved open the front doors with his foot, rolling his shoulders back as he strode through the corridors of stone. His footsteps echoed around him, acting as heralds of his arrival.

Two armoured men stood in front of the entrance to the main hall. Dream hadn’t been here since that ball. Since he’d helped Niki escape. The two men pulled open the doors, Dream not sparing them a look as he stormed inside, instantly meeting Schlatt’s smirking face. Dream had to physically restrain himself from punching the man in the face.

Whoever said that the pen was mightier than the sword had clearly never obviously never encountered a diamond sword and Schlatt’s smug fucking grin.

Dream shoved his clenched fists into his pockets as he kept striding forward, pausing when he was a couple feet from the table in the middle of the room. Schlatt was sitting at the top, one leg thrown over the other, leaning back in his chair, hand draped over his ankle. Dream didn’t sit down.

He purposefully ignored the other men in the room, painfully aware of a blue gaze on him, sending a familiar quiver through his bones.

_“It was you.”_

_D_ _ream looked up from the book he was reading, arching an eyebrow at George. The smaller man was sitting in the bay window, head leaning against the glass, hair flopping in his face. Dream didn’t speak, closing the book and slanting further back into the chair. They were in George’s office, like Dream always seemed to be finding himself nowadays, and the moon outside was bright, its light making George look even paler than normal. Almost glowing._

_Dream had always thought George was beautiful. Like he was a painting an artist had breathed to life, rather than a body like his own. George seemed too precise to be made of blood and bones like him. Features were too sharp, like they’d been cut from marble. Eyes too calculating, like they had to be there for some other purpose rather than merely seeing._

_Dream still thought he was beautiful. He knew he’d probably always think that. But the marble was cracking slowly, shy and awkward smile now a rare occasion, replaced with pressed lips and frowning eyes._

_“What was me?” Dream asked, intrigued, as George slowly tilted his head to meet Dream’s eyes._

_“Niki. At the ball. You helped her.” His voice wasn’t even accusatory. Just tired. Dream’s breathing hitched for a moment, before he nodded. There was no point in lying. Where would that get them._

_George just hummed in response, turning his whole body to face Dream. And that was when it hit the taller man. As he sat in the chair, and George sat at the window, watching each other like they couldn’t even recognise one another. Not like they were strangers, like they had never even gazed upon the other’s face. No, this was worse._

_Like they had seen into each other’s souls, like they had_ been _each other’s souls, at some point before. Like they knew each other inside out, veins plaited together, and skin stitched to skin. Like they had once breathed each other’s words instead of their own before, like touching each other had at some point been easier than living. It was worse because the stare was carrying all of that weight, all of the unrelenting love they had held for each other, and still did hold, and Dream still couldn’t figure out who he was looking at._

 _Still couldn’t sort through the mess that was fucking everything, as he stared at George in the window. He knew George better than he knew himself, and he couldn’t see him. Couldn’t understand what was sitting right in front of him anymore._

_It was like the love he held for the man had once been freeing. Had been a tether to the world when things got too loud, too much. And now it was like they were both in this never-ending ocean, stretching on and on and on, and they were slowly pulling each other down. George’s whispers would grab onto Dream’s clothes and inch him deeper into the dark abyss. Dream’s touches would snake around George’s flesh, the cold water lapping at his throat._

_“What happened?” Dream breathed. George scoffed, rolling his eyes as he turned to glare out of the window, arms folded tightly into his chest._

_“You helped a fucking hostage escape, you stupid fuck. If you had just-"_

_As George spoke, words tumbling from his mouth, Dream stood up silently, feet heavy on the floor. “No,” he said once he reached the other man, cutting him off. George looked up at him with wide eyes, face slightly pissed off. “What happened, George?”_

_He finally seemed to get it then, shaking his head before he dropped his gaze to their shoes. “I don’t know,” he admitted, voice breaking shakily._

_“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” Dream said, voice cutting through everything like glass. George’s head snapped up; face painted in horror. “What?” he hissed, straightening his back so he wasn’t looking up at Dream so much._

_“_ What _?” he repeated again, head shaking, incredulous. “You disagree with me on one fucking thing and you decide this isn’t worth it anymore? I’ve joined Schlatt so you think I’m not worth it to you anymore?” Dream opened his mouth to protest, even if he didn’t think he could choke the words out if he tried, but George kept speaking, voice rising in annoyance and volume as he went on._

 _“You know what_ happened _to us, Dream?” George asked, eyes wild, slightly feral. Ironically, this was the most alive Dream had seen George in months. “You decided to start a fucking war. And even though I disagreed, I stayed by your side the whole goddamn time. Because I thought you were worth it to me. And because, god forbid, I loved you, I tried to help shoulder all the weight you picked up during that fucking war. Every person you tried to kill, every shot you fired, every blade that fell, I carried that shit. Not you, was never you._

_"And then, when you finally decide to get a moral compass and you end the bloody thing, you fuck off, constantly. You leave me here, alone, constantly. You kept leaving, expecting me to just be here for you when you came back, like I didn’t have my own fucking issues.”_

_Dream blinked, voice catching in his throat. “I needed time to think,” he tried to protest._

_"_ _And you think I didn’t? That Sapnap didn’t?”_

_“How do we…how do we fix this?” Dream asked, voice fading when George shook his head solemnly, like a judge who had just sentenced someone to death, like a judge who believed the person deserved to die._

_“I don’t think we can.”_

George had been wearing jeans the last time he’d seen him, two weeks ago, the tears near his knees like the tears Dream had been feeling in his arteries, the tearing in the still air between them. Now, gone was the navy sweater and jeans, with the mismatched socks and scuffed shoes, replaced by that fucking suit. Dream ignored it. Ignored it all as he looked to the man in front of him. 

“Why the fuck is there holes in my territory?” Dream hissed, fist slamming down on the surface of the table. It shook, and he took note as George flinched slightly, and Quackity watched on with widened eyes. Tubbo, who was sitting at Schlatt’s right, was watching with a still face, blue eyes flicking between the two men at opposing sides of the table. Schlatt didn’t move, his smile just growing wider, as if he was baring his teeth.

“We're expanding. It’s called infrastructure,” he said simply, as if any of this shitshow was simple. “I wasn’t aware that was an issue.”

“There was an agreement,” Dream stated, trying to keep his tone as calm as possible. Tried to not let Schlatt get a rise out of him, even as he watched Schlatt turn to glance at George, cause Schlatt was a fucking prick and knew exactly what he was doing. Dream gripped onto the chair he was standing behind, nails digging into wood.

“I don’t know about any agreement,” Schlatt shrugged, leaning his head on his hands. “Did you guys know about this _agreement_?” he tilted his head to look at the men beside him, Quackity instantly shaking his head, an identical grin on the younger man’s face. Dream narrowed his eyes when George stayed quiet, eyes dull as they stared on.

“Wilbur had an agreement with him,” Tubbo explained, Dream letting lose a breath he didn’t even realise he was holding onto. Schlatt arched a brow as he looked to his right, Tubbo rifling through a stack of papers on an empty chair beside him. “They both signed. As well as…uh Eret and Tommy. No expanding into Dream’s land.”

Dream watched on in silence as Tubbo passed the paper to Schlatt, who nodded along as his eyes scanned over it. He clicked his tongue, dropping the paper onto the table. “Sucks that Will isn’t president anymore. And that I wasn’t here to sign that too, so really, this agreement means fuck all,” Schlatt shrugged, pressing his lips together in a cocky smile. Dream almost lost his shit. “Shit’s crazy,” the man kept speaking, sliding the paper down in Dream’s direction.

He lost his shit.

In a couple of seconds, the dagger that was normally kept in Dream’s boot was stabbed into the table, right in the middle of the paper. The sound of the splitting wood shut Schlatt up for a moment, as Dream leaned over the chair, breathing hot against the mask on his face.

“I don’t give a shit about you. Or them,” he snarled, gesturing to the three men sitting around the table in silence, holding their breaths in unison. “All of you sitting pretty in your fucking suits. Acting like Kings in your crappy little country. I don’t give a shit if you exile Wilbur or Tommy or if you want to start killing each other. But stay. The fuck. Out of my lands.”

Dream had almost killed for his land. For his authority and his standing. This was his domain, the one fucking thing he had left he was willing to fight for, tooth and nail. And he'd be damned if a phoney president tried to take that away from him.

It was almost freeing, having no one to care about anymore. Having no one to protect. He could team with whoever the fuck he wanted, whoever offered him the better deal. He could blow all this shit to the ground if he wanted. Remind everyone where the fuck they stood.

“Is that all?” Schlatt asked, face back to a cast of unfazed indifference, as he leaned into his chair, fingers methodically tapping the armrests. He was clearly being sarcastic, voice dry and dark eyes clouded over. But Dream shook his head anyway, fingers on the hilt of the dagger tight as the blade cut deeper into the table. Schlatt’s nostrils flared as he watched Dream cut his shit up. Good. Just like how Dream had smashed his fists against his walls when he discovered Schlatt's men carving up his land.

“Leave me out of your shit,” Dream spat, bringing his knife out of the table, lips curling at the ruined agreement. He glared down at his own signature, his name printed neatly next to Wilbur’s, a declaration of trust between the two parties. Even after everything. At least Wilbur had been honest and honourable. Even if they hadn't agreed on politics, Dream could admit Wilbur had been a good leader. A leader who had fought for his friends. Wilbur had always put his family before him, had always looked out for Tommy before himself. 

All his friends, spread to the four corners of the Earth, blowing aimlessly with the wind. At least Will had Tommy now, and Techno had come to both of them when they called, the three brothers burying themselves underground. Dream glanced up, meeting blue for a moment before he snapped his head back down, the sight unbearable. Although he hated to admit it, George wasn’t alone. He had Schlatt, who he had ultimately picked over Dream.

Something flared in his chest when he realised something. “Sapnap gets immunity,” he said, head snapping up. That was the first thing he’d said that seemed to catch Schlatt off guard. George fully balked, sitting up straight, head moving as he looked from Schlatt to Dream. Emotion painted his face, a mixture of shock and hurt. His eyes were pained as Dream didn’t acknowledge him, keeping his eyes on Schlatt. What George thought didn’t matter anymore. Not to him.

“ _What_?” Schlatt asked, brows furrowing.

“Sapnap gets left out of whatever happens. Whatever fucking wars you start, whatever forests you decide to start burning down next, you don’t touch Sapnap. You don’t hurt him or ask anyone else to.” He pointed the knife at Schlatt, blade loose in his fingers.

“Last I heard, you were ready to spill Sapnap’s guts out where he stood. For Tommy as well, of all people. You really had to side with that little shit, Dream? Over your own family?” George’s face bleached where he sat, glaring angrily down at the floor.

“I’m not on any side,” Dream gritted out in response, annoyance screaming through his body. Don’t let him see you’re pissed off. Don’t let him see what he’s doing is working. Don’t let him figure out your weaknesses here. Calm. The. Fuck. Down. "I'm on my own godddamn side. And I'm here, on my own, asking you politely, to leave me and my land out of this."

“You’re asking a lot of me here, Dream, buddy,” Schlatt said, kissing his teeth after a moment of horrendous silence.

“I’m asking you to keep to yourself.”

“And if we don’t?” Quackity mused, mousy eyes peering up at Dream. The blond shook his head slowly, stepping away from the table.

“You know you can’t win this,” he said, voice low, pure wrath dripping into his drawl. Schlatt didn’t respond, just cocked his head at Dream as he folded his arms. Quackity opened his mouth to speak again, but Schlatt held a hand up to silence him. “I’m giving you three days to get your _infrastructure_ ,” Dream rolled his eyes at that, hands slouched in his pockets as he jutted his jaw out. “To get off my land.”

“Wait! You’ll need to sign papers!” Tubbo objected as Dream started to leave. “I’ll need to draw up agreements and documents for this to be binding.” Dream sighed, wanting to leave as quickly as possible. He hated it here, feeling uncertain in each step. He just wanted to go home.

“That won’t be necessary, Tubbo,” Schlatt said as he stood, wooden chair scraping horribly against the stone floor. Dream cringed at the sound, uncomfortable in his own skin as the sound breathed down his spine. “We trust each other, right Dream?”

Dream didn’t speak, watching through his mask as Schlatt walked over to him, arm outstretched. “This isn’t legally binding if there are no-”

“Shut the fuck up, Tubbo,” Schlatt said calmly from where he stood in front of Dream, arm still in the air. Tubbo shrank back into his seat, head hanging as he nodded wordlessly. Dream frowned, but nodded stiffly, hand in Schlatt’s. “You must visit again sometime,” Schlatt grinned widely when Dream snatched his hand back after they shook on it, resisting the urge to wipe it on his sweater, not wanting to look like a stroppy child.

And he guessed he got what he wanted. With seemingly no push back. Schlatt was going to fuck off. And he’d tried to talking route, next time Schlatt pushed it too far Dream could impale him on his sword without feeling too bad about it.

“You used to visit all the time,” Schlatt continued as Dream rolled his eyes, snorting in response.

“I think I’m good for now,” he said when they reached the door. Schlatt just shrugged, cruel grin still dancing on his face. George was still sitting at the table, back impossibly straight. Either his chair was uncomfortable, or the man was sitting as still as he could before Dream left, as if, if he moved, he’d smash his head against the wall.

“I’m glad we could reach this agreement,” Schlatt said, condescendingly waving Dream away as he left.

“Go fuck yourself, Schlatt.” And with that Dream left, doors of Manberg clicking behind him, and he could finally breathe again. He tugged the mask from his face once he was safely past the borders, not wanting to risk one of Schlatt’s new citizens seeing his face.

He shuddered in the cold wind, burying himself deeper into his sweater as he walked. He was truly alone now, family fractured as all three of them stood on opposite sides of the battleground. But Sapnap would be safer this way. And George could do what he wanted, and so could he.

Dream wandered home, pulling his sweater off as he entered his home, the one he had previously shared, and now occupied alone. Throwing the jumper onto the banister of the stairs, he trudged into his bedroom, letting his back hit the mattress as he threw his arm over his eyes.

He reached out, instinctively curling his fingers around the hoodie that now permanently lived on his bed. It was George’s. He’d never come to take it back. So, Dream kept it here, hidden under blankets and pillows and shame.

George had asked him once, what he would do if he had left him. If George left Dream, and they found themselves on opposite sides. And he’d said he would have to fight against him. He’d never believed that would actually ever happen. Never thought they’d be cleaved apart, find themselves standing on either sides of the chessboard, as if nothing had ever happened between them.

Dream had never really thought he’d lose George. But now, as he lay on the bed that had never just been _his_ , fingers digging desperately into the familiar blue that smelled like lavender and sugar, he realised he’d lost his George as soon as he’d told him he’d fight against him. As soon as he refused to see what the war, he’d caused last year had done to him.

That was when he lost George.

And he was never going to get him back. Now he just had to fight him, blue hoodie in his fingers morphing into a bloodied blade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the 400 kudos (pog) and all your amazing comments holy shit! :D


	13. A Celebration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can you imagine what I would do if I could do all I can?”
> 
> Schlatt has an announcement.

Wilbur woke up with a slight throbbing in his head. Sitting up with a start, chest heaving and forehead damp with sweat, he breathed out purposefully slowly, fingers clenching the blanket. Swinging his legs over the side, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Schlatt was making another announcement today. And Will was going to have to go and watch, as Schlatt stood on his fucking land, the land him and Tommy and Tubbo had sacrificed everything for. Sighing, Will pushed himself off of the bed, stretching his arms out as he wandered around the small room. He debated poking his head down the staircase, to check if Tommy or Techno were home. Biting his lip, he decided against it, tugging a discarded sweater over his head before grabbing his beanie.

He couldn’t take Tommy to the announcement. He was getting too unpredictable, too rash. He was going to end up hurting himself or one of them, and Will would be damned if he was going to be the one to encourage Tommy. The boy still didn’t seem to understand that every single person around them, every single person who told them they were on their side, was lying to them.

Maybe not consciously, Will was sure that Techno had convinced himself he was helping, that he was doing the right thing. He didn’t think his brother was purposefully fucking him over, purposefully threatening the ounce of authority Will had managed to scrape back for himself. Techno thought he was protecting Tommy. He just didn’t understand that by protecting Tommy, by fighting beside him whenever the kid asked, he was just further perpetuating the stupid idea of protagonism Tommy had in his head.

But Will didn’t blame Techno. Didn’t blame anyone but himself really. For the shitshow they’d landed themselves in. In the constant uphill battle, they were never going to win, because while they tried to fight with honour and dignity, Schlatt was perfectly happy with just creating chaos. With just fucking shit up without thinking about any of the goddamn consequences.

Every fucking day was a war now. Their whole lives were war now. They had built their new home on the very basis of starting a fucking revolution. Was there any goddamn point anymore? Was L’Manberg even worth reclaiming? Fundy had completely stabbed him in the back, and Will couldn’t even bring himself to think about Niki, let alone trust her. And it was only a matter of time before Techno went back to Phil, and Tommy and Tubbo would eventually leave him too, he knew they would because they always did, everyone always did.

Will’s nose crinkled as he scanned the crappy little cavern he was standing in, the walls screaming at him, closing in on him and begging him to do something, to do fucking _anything_ to stop this.

Wilbur hadn’t even realised he’d moved until a cold trickle ran its way down his fingers, dripping into the crease of his palm. He blinked blankly, looking at the scratched hand, knuckles raw, before he blinked back at the wall. Blood splattered against the rocky cavern, dribbling down a red so dark it was almost brown. It didn’t even really hurt beside a dull pulsation in his skin.

Wilbur shook his head in an attempt to shake all the searing thoughts in his mind out, before he tugged his boots on, lacing them up slowly. “Will!” He looked up when he heard his name being called from the direction entrance to the caverns. Frowning, Will straightened up, following the desperate cries.

He found Tubbo at the blanket of vines that covered the entryway, face a cast of terror. Before Will could ask what the issue was, Tubbo was tugging him into the cave, quickly fixing the leaves back into place. He moved backwards a couple steps, eyes wild as he grabbed onto Will’s arm again, fingers shaking.

“Quackity knows,” he said, voice cracking.

“ _What_?” Will asked, suddenly feeling very faint.

“He knows where Pogtopia is,” Tubbo explained, tightening his grip on Will’s sleeve as his eyes started to water. “I heard him tell George he was coming here.”

“But how would he even…” Will trailed off, annoyance rising in his chest. Tubbo’s face only grew more scared as he realised Will had figured it out. “I fucking hate children,” Will snarled as he lightly pulled his arm away from Tubbo, sprinting back through the main cave and down the stairs, almost tripping repeatedly. The teenager followed close behind, nearly toppling into Will a couple of times before they reached the bottom, heading off in the direction of the stupid fucking tunnel Tommy had demanded he build.

Will should’ve said no, should’ve put his foot down when his gut told him to, when it told him this was a bad fucking idea. But Tommy had been at the point of begging, face red with frustration and desperation.

_“Please, Will, man,” Tommy asked, following as Wilbur went to start harvesting some of the overgrown potatoes as Techno slept upstairs._

_“No, Tommy. Why would we even need a tunnel?” He rolled his eyes, balancing his hoe against his chest as he ducked into the room they’d carved out for farming._

_Tommy made a gargled choking sound before he ran in front of Will, blocking the threshold. “Move,” Wilbur demanded, brows lowering. Why couldn’t Tommy just leave it? Why did he have to push back on every fucking thing? The teenager didn’t in fact move. He just shook his head, gulping slightly. “Tommy. Move.”_

_“Let me build a tunnel.”_

_Will sighed. This argument had been going on for the better half of an hour now, and they’d gotten nowhere. “Why do you want to build a tunnel so badly?”_

_“Because I’ve not been back to my house in four fucking months,” Tommy yelled, eyes seething with a depressing wrath. Wilbur frowned at the outburst, watching the teenager avert his eyes quickly. “Because I’ve not been back to my old base in five months. Because the last time I left this fucking ravine for more than a couple hours, I found my cow dead. I miss L’Manberg, Will. And it’s killing me. I’m dying here, man. I just need_ something _that leads back home.”_

_Wilbur’s voice caught in his throat. So he just nodded tightly once, brushing past Tommy when the younger boy muttered a thanks Will, and stepped to the side._

The tunnel would’ve perhaps been impressive, the walls carved well, wooden beams nailed up for support, if Wilbur wasn’t so pissed off. He ran down, boots padding along the wooden path, until he reached a turn, eyes straining in the darkness as he glanced around the corner. He couldn’t hear anything, and even though he was surrounded by complete darkness, he was pretty sure he couldn’t see anyone coming up either.

“We can block it off, we can try and block it off,” Wilbur said, words tumbling out fast as he started running back to the abandoned minecart he’d seen a bit further up. Tubbo followed him, lighting a torch quickly, the harsh glow spearing itself through Will’s eyes. “Alright, alright,” he said as he started lugging the heavy cart back down towards the fucking massive giveaway Tommy had built to lead their fucking enemies right into the heart of their base. “We can block it off.”

Tubbo nodded in agreement, digging the torch into the pebbled littered ground before he started helping Will move the rocks from the cart into the middle of the path. They worked quickly, and in the darkness, and Will had no fucking clue how long it’d been until they stood side by side, panting and sweating, cringing at the haphazardly piled rocks.

“They might not notice,” Tubbo tried, smiling awkwardly up at Will.

“I’m going to abolish Tommy,” Will said, laughing as he brushed two hands through his soot covered hair. Tubbo chuckled along, but his eyes stayed trained on the passage in front of them. Their laughter died out quicky after a moment, both of them picking up on the poorly hidden truth in Will’s words.

“Is this going to work?” he asked, voice soft, glancing down at Tubbo as the younger boy slumped against the wall. Tubbo shrugged, sighing heavily as he picked at the skin around his fingers until a dribble of red ran down his fingers, and he shoved his fingers into his mouth.

“I built this junction just in case Tommy leaked the tunnel somehow,” he murmured, and Will didn’t know why there was a hint of shame in the teenager’s voice.

“You’re so smart, Tubbo.” He ruffled the boy’s hair, grinning widely for once as he felt a small inch of that weight on his shoulder be chipped off. At least some of the people around him had half a fucking brain. Even if he couldn’t trust Tubbo to not eventually leave him, he could trust Tubbo to always think on his feet. The kid was always prepared for almost every possible outcome, he had to give it to him.

“Thought it was a mistake, but I’m glad I did it now,” Tubbo said, weak smile on his lips. Will opened his mouth to agree, when the echoing sound of footsteps sounded the alarm in his chest. He grabbed onto Tubbo, motioning for him to put out the torch and pressed a finger to his lips, shaking his head slowly. The boy nodded, biting the inside of his cheek before they were both again, plunged into obscurity.

The footsteps got louder, and Will held his breath with each soft thud he heard against the wooden path. He silently cursed Tommy for his stupidity, as he prayed to anything that would listen to him that whoever was on the other side of the rocks wouldn’t find them.

_“The fuck, man?”_

He let loose a short breath at the sound of Tommy’s confused tone. He shared a glance with Tubbo, who looked like he was about to pass out from relief. “As long as he doesn’t break the cobblestone,” Will breathed, not daring to move as they both listened to Tommy swear colourfully under his breath.

“Perfect, it works.”

“You’re very, very smart, Tubbo,” Will told him, the boy smiling toothily back at him. And then they heard a muttered, _what the fuck is this_ , followed by the scratching sound of a pickaxe cracking against rock. And then a small section of their wall crumbled away and was replaced with a fairly pissed off looking Tommy, illuminating the two of them with the torch in his fingers.

“Why are you in my tunnel?” Tommy’s voice was strained, as if he was trying to not let his anger drip into it.

“It’s not yours,” Tubbo said quietly, shuffling back when betrayal flashed across Tommy’s face.

“Fill in the gap,” Will ordered before the two of them could argue, taking a step closer to Tommy as the boy scowled through the hole in the wall.

“Why?” he demanded weakly, voice leaping up an octave like it always did when Tommy felt vulnerable and confused by the situation, he was in. Will didn’t have time for a confused and vulnerable Tommy.

“Fill it in, Tommy,” he said again as he started trying to pile up the loose pieces of stone again, anger rising in his chest as the boy just stood there. “Fill it in!” He was yelling now, annoyance ticking at him as Tommy frowned, shaking his head.

“You moron-” he started saying, readying his pick to swing down on their wall again, blue eyes flashing with aggravation.

“He’s becoming insufferable recently,” Wilbur snarled to Tubbo. Tommy’s pick froze midair, as if an invisible hand had grabbed it, holding it above his head. His face fell for a split second before he rolled his eyes, crinkling his nose at Wilbur through the wall.

“Yeah, I’m doing it on purpose because I realised what a control freak you are. And how clever I am,” he spat. He was acting like a fucking child. Just the same as he was acting constantly now.

“What the hell, man?” Tommy yelled when Tubbo started piling the stone up again, ignoring the other two’s argument. “Tommy, they know where your tunnel is, if we don’t-” he tried to explain reasonably, Tommy cocking his head as he shut his fucking mouth for once.

“Tubbo, its fine,” Will interrupted, backing away from Tommy. “Let him have his way.” Tubbo frowned, looking from Tommy to Will before he nodded gingerly, stepping back.

“What the fuck is-” Tommy started through gritted teeth, but Will cut him off again, having to shout to get Tommy to listen to him.

“Tommy. Tommy. Schlatt is having a decree in a couple minutes.”

“What does that mean?” Tommy asked, vexation leaving his voice as he looked to Wilbur with anxiety written on his face.

“I don’t know what it means, Tommy,” Wilbur sighed, rubbing his temples. “I Don’t know what it means. But I don’t want you there.”

“What?” The tremble in his voice was deafening.

“You’re proving yourself to be too much of a loose cannon,” Wilbur tried, gesturing to the tunnel they were standing in. Surely Tommy had to see that he was acting irrationally, acting like someone Will couldn’t trust. “I literally can’t-”

“You idiot!” Tommy bit out, foot stamping against the wooden path.

“There is a reason-” Will started, glaring at his right-hand man as he hurled insults at him, voice trembling with fury. Tommy just wouldn’t shut. The fuck. Up.

“There is a reason you are not the president and you never will be.”

Silence followed Tubbo’s short gasp. Tommy’s face threatened to crumble as he looked at Will, jaw quivering. Will was ready for the fuck you, ready for Tommy to start screaming insults. But Tommy just turned on his heels and walked away, blue eyes haunting as his steps drowned out the pounding in Will’s head.

“Come on Tubbo,” Will ordered, walking back down the tunnel the way they’d came. “Let’s go.”

They walked in silence back through the ravine, the only pathetic light to guide them emitting from the smouldering torch Tubbo had found discarded at the side. Wilbur grabbed his long coat when they reached their main base, shoving his arms into the sleeves as Tubbo stood at the wall, eyes on his polished shoes now scuffed with dirt.

“What do we do if they find it?” Tubbo murmured when Will started walking up the stairs, hands in his pockets.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Will answered, voice sounding harsher than he meant it. But he didn’t apologise as they came to the exit, stepping out into the burning light. There wasn’t time for apologies when they were in the middle of a revolution.

“I’ll see you there then,” Tubbo said, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as they stood in the woods, winter air nipping at their ears. Will nodded, running his tongue over his teeth before they went their separate ways; Tubbo heading back to Manberg, and Wilbur moving through the trees to sneak around the back.

As he reached the top of the tower that overlooked Manberg, he was hit with an icy déjà vu. The stage was different now, the banners torn down, the walls demolished. All that stood was the stone platform, the waterfall that fed into the river of Manberg rushing quietly. Will watched as Schlatt walked up to the stage. The three usual suspects were with him; Quackity right beside him, Tubbo slightly behind, hands clasped tightly together, and then George, trailing at the back, face a cast of boredom.

Crowds were gathered, a sea of people standing and waiting for Schlatt. Waiting for a fucking dictator. Will sighed, tongue pushing into his cheek as he leaned against the railings, arms folded. None of these people had voted for Schlatt.

No one had voted for him either. At least, not enough people. He blinked as a slow, painful realisation washed over him. Oh fuck.

Before he could think about it longer, he felt someone elbow him. He turned to find Tommy beside him, his blue eyes hardened over and lips turned down into a scowl. “I told you not to-” Wilbur started, fury lurching up in his chest when Tommy cut him off, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t give a shit if you don’t want me here. I have a right to listen to this. It’s not all up to you anymore, Will.” And with that the boy turned out to look at the scene below them, his face softening only slightly when his eyes fell on Tubbo, who was now on the stage with Schlatt.

Wilbur wanted to argue. Wanted to demand Tommy go home, that he was in charge here, that every decision he had to make was for their sake, for Tommy’s sake. But he didn’t. He just looked out towards Schlatt, shoulders seizing up when the man started speaking.

“You know, today I got up on the right side of the bed. I rolled out of bed, and I was like, you know what? Today I’m going to do something that people will remember. That people will appreciate.”

A sea of applause followed, and Will watched as Schlatt grinned, revelling in the attention. His nails dug into his palms. Tommy was completely still beside him, jaw clenched tightly.

“So, a festival, is what I am here to announce, citizens of Manberg.”

Will frowned, brows knotting together as Tommy let out a loose, what the fuck? Will was thinking the exact same thing. Why a festival? There was nothing that Schlatt could exploit there, right?

“We’re going to throw a party, have a good time!” Schlatt’s voice boomed over the chorus of gleeful shouts coming from the crowds. “It’s going to be a celebration of democracy. A democracy that put me in power. And evicted the, and I don’t say this lightly, friends, the dictator that was here before me.”

Wilbur snarled, fists curling up into tight balls at his sides. Schlatt had to know he was listening, that he was here somewhere. That’s why he was trying to goad him. Bastard. He felt Tommy’s eyes on him, but he refused to turn from Schlatt, as he stood tall on the stage, arms spread open as he spoke to his people. _His_ people.

Wilbur felt his world come down crashing on top of him. He stumbled backwards as a pissed off Tommy grabbed the bow around him, teeth bared as he nocked an arrow in a split second, eyes narrowing as he aimed it carefully. Will shook his head wildly, having to resort to leaping onto Tommy when the boy wouldn't pay attention to him, knocking the arrow from his hand, bow tumbling across the floor. Tommy looked at him with wide and terrified eyes, looking like a sixteen year old boy for the first time in a while.

“I reckon it’s time to celebrate. Let us share in the festivities.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading and for all the lovely kudos and comments! :D (happy MCC day lmao)


	14. I Wish You'd Come With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Energy may be likened to the bending of a crossbow; decision, to the releasing of a trigger.”
> 
> Oh no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its long and im very sorry in advance :)

Tommy fucking hated Winter.

Hated the way he had to fold away his shorts under his bed and instead wear jeans that ripped too easily. Hated the way he had to pile multiple blankets over himself when he wanted to sleep, else he’d spend the whole night shivering so hard his teeth chattered together. He hated how the flowers in front of their house would wither up and die, petals crumbling and falling onto the soil.

The leaves from the trees were all gone, brushed from the ground by the winds, like a bullet as the coldness ripped through flesh. The branches of the trees twisted up into the grey sky, like paintbrushes scoured raw from use. As Tommy stood on that tower, watching with a slowly sinking heart as Schlatt walked back into his fortress, Tubbo following behind, hands shoved into his pockets. Tommy tried to smile as his friend glanced over his shoulder, their eyes meeting painfully.

Time seemed to stretch on as he looked to his friend, unable to say everything he wanted to say. Unable to tell Tubbo it was all going to be alright, that they’d figure something out soon. That they just had to stay low, listen to Will, and believe it would get better. But Tommy couldn’t say any of that. Because like always, Tubbo was miles away, too far for Tommy to reach out and grab him. And how could Tommy tell Tubbo things he didn’t even believe anymore?

A murder of crows flew overhead as Tubbo turned away, like pieces of burnt paper blowing aimlessly through the sky. They passed over the new flag that flies high on the mast. The flag they made after Tommy burned their last one down, fabric floating onto the ground like confetti. It’s all dark, looming blacks and purples, gone was the red and blue that Tommy placed himself in front of an arrow for.

He glanced down at his own arrow, knocked from his hand by Will, lying discarded on the floor. Point aimed right at the man who stands above the ladder, arm resting against the wall as he stares down at his shoes. At his shoes, scuffed and brushed with dirt. At his long brown coat, littered with holes, half badly sewn in an attempt to keep the cold out, the other half left, eating up the fabric. At his black sweater, fraying and dark, blending into the shadows that surround him.

“Let’s go.” Tommy debates refusing, debates asking Will why he was being such a dickhead, why he’d been such a dickhead earlier. Why he seemed to stifle at Tommy’s presence every single day. Tommy wasn’t a fucking idiot, he knew he could be brash, abrasive. That his personality was a lot, sometimes. It was why it had taken him sixteen years to find an actual family. And he’d thought Will had seen through all that, had loved Tommy for Tommy.

Jesus, he was overthinking again. Was being stupid, of course Will loved him. He was just stressed out. He shook his head to himself as he followed after Will, grabbing his bow before climbing down the ladder, one rung at a time. The arrow stayed where it was, abandoned and discarded, pointing after the two wandering renegades. 

“I could’ve taken my shot,” he said once they reached the ground, Will not turning around to check if he was following as he strode outside.

“Tommy, it’s not…” he cut himself off with a sigh, looking down at Tommy as the darkening sky cast shadows across his face. “Killing Schlatt wouldn’t do anything. Wouldn’t fix a single thing.”

Tommy bit down on a protest. He was pretty sure sending an arrow right through Schlatt’s fucking skull would solve a couple of their problems.

“Cause then Quackity would just become president, and who knows whether that would be worse. And then there’s George to consider,” he shook his head, rolling his shoulders back as they continued into the forest, spruce trees welcoming them into the darkness. “It means nothing. It wouldn’t have mattered if you’d killed him or not.”

“Tommy, I got a question for you, right?” Tommy nodded wordlessly, concentrating on each step, the dry grass bending under his feet. He concentrated on each movement, heel to ball, so he didn’t have to concentrate on the sharp twisting in his chest.

“This festival is a good idea. This doesn’t seem like a bad, or evil. You know?” Wilbur sounded different as he spoke, as if a different man was walking beside him, different from the man who’d snapped at him a couple of hours ago, who’d looked at him as if Tommy was the dirt on his shoe.

“Yeah.” A shrug, shoulders hunched accompanied Tommy’s non-committed response.

“This seems like a nice, friendly thing Schlatt’s doing.”

“Yeah,” he repeated, looking up cautiously as Wilbur paused, hand braced on a tree. Tommy watched as Will looked out, eyes wide at nothing in particular as he stood tall, head high as his lips quirked up ever so slightly.

“Tommy, are we the bad guys?” Tommy froze, blinking. He had to stop himself from shuddering as Will’s dark eyes slid towards him, shadows whispering over his face. Tommy frowned as Will took a step towards him, gesturing with his hands to the two of them.

“’Cause, I mean, we just made ourselves the leaders, and then we had a vote, and he won, in a coalition government.” He shook his head in amusement, dark curls tumbling over his face as he grinned. “Completely legal. And now we’re trying to overthrow him. It feels like we’re the bad guys, Tommy,” he murmured, looking completely calm, as a sea raged in Tommy’s gut, head spinning slightly.

Why was Will saying all of this? They’d been fighting for their rebellion for almost half a year now, and none of them had ever expressed any doubts. They were all fine. They were all happy together, wanting to reclaim their home. Everything was _fine_.

“This doesn’t feel correct,” Will sighed when Tommy didn’t respond. “I…Tommy, am I a bad…am I a villain, in this story?” He pressed his hands onto Tommy’s shoulders, and Tommy had never felt so young before, so confused and helpless, as he looked up at Will, whose dark eyes seemed to be cracking in the light of the moon.

“No.” Tommy’s voice came out stronger than he felt. Tone even and calm as his knees were weak, fingers trembling slightly, skin under Will’s hands burning, searing through his veins.

“Why not?” And the way he asked seemed so heartbreakingly genuine that Tommy stepped back, Will’s hands falling from his shoulders, dangling at his sides as he blinked down at Tommy, face screwed up into something like frustration.

“’Cause we started L’Manberg,” Tommy tried, frowning as he waved his arms around, gesturing to the city behind them. _Their_ city. Why wasn’t Will understanding that they were the true leaders of L’Manberg, no matter what Schlatt said. “And we should’ve won that vote.”

Will sighed angrily, shaking his head as he started walking away. Tommy chased after him, scrambling in the dirt as Will’s long strides threatened to leave him behind. “But the people decided we shouldn’t have,” Wilbur argued, jaw clenched.

“The people didn’t decide it, the endorsement did. That’s not representative of, I mean…” Tommy snarled, unable to get the correct words out. His thoughts were flying through his mind, and he couldn’t catch onto any of them, panic rising painfully in his chest as he desperately tried to make Will understand.

“Tommy, on the day, they said they were going to make a coalition, and our cockiness, our arrogance got ahead of us,” Will stated, glaring down at Tommy as they headed through the forest, snapping twigs sounding too much like the sound of snapping bones, like the snap of a bow’s string being loosened, an arrow heading right for his chest, blood seeping out, dragging him down into the soil as he screamed for help, gasped for air, help he was dying, he couldn’t-

Wilbur’s voice dragged him out of the edge of a panic attack. Flinging him out of the fire and into a burning pan as Will’s dark eyes narrowed on him.

“ _We_ allowed it. We said yes, coalition governments were allowed.” None of them said anything for a moment, Tommy struggling to hide how hard it was getting to breathe, and Wilbur not even batting an eyelash.

“Tommy, I think we’re the bad guys,” Will whistled, voice low against the whispering wind. “But Tommy, I wanna say something to you. I don’t know…I…okay,” he shook his head as he let loose a feral laugh. Tommy had never heard Wilbur laugh like that. “Me and you, we both agree we’re right.”

“Yes!” Tommy nodded eagerly, relieved that Wilbur was finally saying something, anything, that was making sense.

“We agree we’re in the right, here,” he continued, smiling softly as Tommy kept nodding, blue eyes wide with hope.

“I’m always in the right, so,” he shrugged, scratching the back of his neck as Wil nodded, smile growing wider on his face with each passing second.

“Then let’s be the bad guys.” Tommy tried to shake his head, but his body felt like molasses, unable to move even a finger as Will grinned, eyes wild as he bared his teeth. “Tommy, why not?” The wind carried away his words, inching around Tommy’s neck like a noose.

“Look, our nation’s gone, our nation is far behind us.” And it sounded so rational, so clear, that Tommy let a sliver of doubt creep into his mind. Wilbur kept going as he wrapped an arm around Tommy, leading him into their cavern, both of them welcomed by the soft glow of the familiar torches. Technoblade was nowhere to be seen as Tommy scanned around him, watching as Wilbur clapped his hands together.

“Let’s blow that motherfucker to smithereens.” His pupils widened, face twitching as he grinned at Tommy. “Let’s blow the whole thing up.”

“Wilbur, are you, are you thinking-” Tommy couldn’t stop shaking his head. Maybe if he shook it hard enough, he could wake himself up, force himself out of this fucking nightmare he must be in, because there was no way in hell this was real. There was no fucking way Will was saying all this shit.

“Tommy, I say if I can’t have Manberg.” Will’s scream, his forceful words painted in violence, rang out like a death knell, grating against Tommy’s ears as the older man spread out his arms, as if he was welcoming the destruction he was praying to fall. As if he was waiting for chaos to wrap its arms around him.

“No one, _no one_ , can have Manberg.”

Tommy ignored that Will had called it Manberg. He blocked it out as he spoke.

“No, Wilbur, I think-” Tommy tried, reaching out for his brother, reaching out to drag him back into sanity, back into the reality they had fought so hard for. But Will moved out of his way, slipping from his fingers as he laughed manically.

“I think this is a new era.”

“Wilbur, we can take it back, but this is the wrong way,” Tommy tried, frustrated tears prickling at his eyes as his voice bordered on begging.

“We burn the place to the fucking ground,” Will grinned. “I want no crops to grow there ever again.”

“No, no,” Tommy begged, voice cracking as he buried his face in his hands, collapsing against the wall. He was trapped here, with a Wilbur he didn’t recognise, in a cold cave that he didn’t want to call home, alone, nothing to tether him to the reality Will was threatening to tear him from.

“I want it all gone.” A snarl ripped from his brother’s throat, and as Tommy’s calloused hands dropped from his face, he no longer saw his friend. He saw a man, hellbent on destruction, inhaling violence and exhaling decay. A man whose kindness had been twisted, stretched too far by everyone as they treaded over him to grab power in their own hands, abandoning him once it was safely cradled in their fingers. A soul, rotted by an endless war, threatening to stretch on and on and on until he died. Until he died, his friends and family buried behind him, either by their own hand or a traitor’s. It wasn’t Wilbur anymore.

Tommy wondered if this is what Dream had seen the day of the Battle of the Lake, as Sapnap stood in front of him, iron sword dripping with crimson. A friend; lost to the emptiness war leaves behind.

“Wilbur…” Tommy tried, jaw quivering.

“Tommy, let’s be villains.” And he looked so desperate. Because Tommy knew it was desperation hidden under the blown-out pupils, and the too wide grin. Because although he didn’t recognise the man in front of him, Tommy would be damned if he gave up on him. Because Wilbur had never given up on him, right? Tommy wouldn’t betray him. Not like Eret or Fundy, or even Dream and Schlatt, who Tommy knew where the friends lost to age, the friends Wilbur would include in his stories of his youth, even though he never named anyone, eyes growing wistful. He wouldn’t do that to his brother. Couldn’t do that to his brother.

“Can I have a minute to think, Wilbur. This is all-” Tommy struggled, holding placating arms out. Will just snarled, head shaking viciously as he pointed one long, scarred, accusing finger at Tommy.

“Think about what? Think about _what_?” He was shouting, voice rising and rising as it screamed against solid walls of rock. “You’ve _had_ a minute, you’ve had days, weeks, months to think about what we should do.”

“I need a minute, I need a minute,” Tommy repeated, voice dying in his throat as he scrambled away from Will, back hitting the wall. “You’re just not thinking straight.”

“It’s all bullshit!” Wilbur yelled angrily, voice like a canon against his ears. Tommy cringed, turning his head to the side to avoid the invisible punches Wilbur was throwing. His eyes widened when he saw drying, dark blood dripping down the wall. That hadn’t been there this morning, before he’d left to work on his tunnel. Tommy’s eyes widened with a mix of trepidation, frustration and panic as he turned back to Will.

“Wilbur, it’s not too far gone,” Tommy pleaded. He stood up straight, taking a step towards Will. Surprisingly, Wilbur kept his mouth shut, cocking his head down at him as Tommy walked slowly towards him, footsteps deafeningly loud.

“There’s a reason that I gave up my discs. It isn’t too far gone.” The still air was horrible, choking Tommy as he spoke, digging into his wrists and his ankles. “You keep talking about it like it’s, like it’s…” His words died out as he shook his head, biting his lip as he blinked away the frustrating stuffiness behind his eyes.

“We can restore it. We can build it back to its former glory. We don’t have to just, _decide_ that it’s over now. You’re being reckless, Wilbur,” Tommy breathed. “You’re being reckless.”

“What’s the point, Tommy?” Will sighed, raking his hands through his messy hair. “What’s the point in rebuilding that place back from scratch? Do you know how much blood was shed to get L’Manberg to the place it was?”

Annoyance rose in Tommy. He had fought for L’Manberg just as much as Will. He had learned how to properly hold a sword for their nation, had sacrificed his discs, his friendships, his youth and almost his fucking life for their nation. He knew exactly how much blood was shed, because he woke up choking on it every single damn day, metal coating his tongue as he screamed himself awake. And Will wanted to blow it all up? For everything to have meant nothing?

“Do you know what would happen if we got L’Manberg back again?” Will asked, either completely oblivious to the horror painted on Tommy’s face, or not caring. “More blood would be shed, and we would be the illegitimate rulers of a nation. Suddenly, suddenly…” he paused as he breathed heavily. Will was speaking to quickly for Tommy to follow, his head spinning as Will’s words danced through his mind, slicing through all his own memories and beliefs with a dagger.

“The only reason Dream is still working with us is because we are the enemies of his enemies. That’s it, that’s all that Dream-”

“No, no. Wilbur, Wilbur,” Tommy cut him off, frowning deeply. Dream was on their side because they were in the right. Dream had fought with him, had lent him his prized weapons, so that Tommy could continue the rebellion. Dream wouldn’t have fought with him, back to back, for nothing. Tommy refused to believe it meant nothing to the older man. They had built a bond over the wreckage of their friendship left over from the war, Dream saving Tommy’s fucking life. That had to mean something.

“The reason we made L’Manberg in the first place was to get away from it,” Tommy said, voice strained. “The only reason- the only reason why we shed all that blood was because we needed L’Manberg. And if there isn’t L’Manberg, then what’s the point? What would’ve been the point in any of this?”

"I know why you’re doing this, Tommy,” Will muttered, voice slow and steady. “I know, I see it in your eyes, I can hear it in your voice. Tommy, you’re scared.”

Tommy blinked as Will smiled kindly, the stranger suddenly replaced with his older brother, his friend, as he placed a warm hand on his cheek.

“You’re scared that people will think differently of you. Tommy, when I said you’re never gonna be president, you’ve got to understand that wasn’t a challenge. It wasn’t to hurt you.” Tommy screwed his eyes shut, leaning into Will’s comforting touch as he his chest ached. He wanted to believe him so badly it hurt, wanted to trust Wilbur to the point that he was ready to abandon everything he stood for to wrap his arms around his brother.

He was scared. He was scared of losing his family. He was scared that he’d never get to live in L’Manberg again, never go back to his house with Tubbo. He was scared he was going to finally die. Scared that he was living on borrowed time, time he’d stolen back during the war. And that it was only a matter of time before his heart met the point of a blade. He was breathing air that didn’t belong to him, the gods toying with him until someone, finally, managed to end him.

And Will had promised to keep him safe. Had promised nothing bad was going to happen to them ever again. That they would be alright.

“That’s true. You’re never going to be president, Tommy. And I can hear it in your voice.” Tommy blinked his eyes open, Wilbur tilting his head down at the younger boy. The kind smile was still there, brown eyes soft and warm, breaking through the darkness. “You wanna sound like you know what you’re doing so that you can prove me wrong.” Tommy tried to shake his head, but everything was too heavy. Everything hurt too much. And the gentle smile was slowly morphing into a smirk, Will’s eyes dancing as his fingers dug into Tommy’s chin. The younger boy winced slightly, but Will didn’t let go, skin cold, fingers calloused, old scars rough against Tommy’s soft skin.

“Tommy, none of us know what we’re doing!” Wilbur laughed, shaking his head in amusement. “We’re fucked. We were fucked the moment we were thrown out. ‘Cause Schlatt knows, he’s a smart man, he knows that if we fight him - even if we beat him, we’ve lost.” Tommy tried to shake his head, tried to speak, but Wilbur’s fingers on him were like a chain, his dark eyes killing any of the words Tommy could summon. “If he fights us, and we _die_.” Tommy flinched at that word, eyes snapping to the side as he tried to escape Wilbur’s harsh gaze. The older man didn’t comment on it, eyes glinting. “We’ve lost. Tommy, there is no inbetween. He knows we’ve lost.”

Tommy felt the earth below him crumble slightly, until the whole world threatened to fall, and all Tommy had to cling to was Will’s harsh hold, his words threatening to slice through him.

“And I know you’re scared Tommy; I understand you’re scared.” He was scared. He was scared of fucking everything. Including his brother. “It’s scary, it’s scary, Tommy, but you know what? In a time like this, when a man has nothing to lose, you know what that means?” he asked, eyes bright as his grin spread across his whole face.

“What does that mean?” Tommy asked, meaning to come across as bitter, but his voice just pathetically cracked, Wilbur eating up his words with victory painting his face.

“It means we can do what we want,” Wilbur laughed, so caught up in himself that he didn’t notice as Tommy brushed his hand from his chin, taking a tentative and shaky step back. “We have a man on our side who literally rigged our nation with tnt, Tommy,” Will cried out, excitement lacing his poisonous words. “We can do the same to them, we can rig this festival with tnt. We can kill them _all_ , Tommy.”

Tommy bit down bile as Will’s shadow loomed over him, close to the real man, as he raked two trembling hands through his hair, chuckling softly. No. No. Tommy was scared shitless, he was alright with admitting that. But Tommy was not scared enough to let Will slaughter people. Was not going to let Wilbur slaughter Tubbo, Niki or Techno at this fucking festival. Was not going to let him destroy everything Tommy loved, everything he had bled for.

“Tommy, have you not noticed-” Wilbur’s voice cut through his skin, his grin slashing through his soul, ringing laughter like a bomb in his head.

“No, no, _no_ ,” Tommy repeated, nose crinkling as he sliced through the air with his hand.

“Everyone who’s claiming to be on our side, they’re lying to us! Tubbo? He’s lying to you, man! He’ll drop us the second he realises were not in the lead anymore,” Will said, full of conviction. How the fuck had Tommy not noticed this? How had he not noticed Wilbur convincing himself it was only a matter of time before someone stabbed a knife into his back? How had he not noticed Wilbur convincing himself their life was a war? That it wasn’t worth trying anymore?

“No, no,” Tommy protested, voice harsh as he took a step forward, fingers clenching into heavy fists at his sides. “Stop it!” he shouted over Wilbur. Wilbur didn’t stop. Not until Tommy’s fist met his eye, and Wilbur stumbled to the ground, looking up at Tommy with wide, shocked eyes. Tommy flinched when Will reached up to prod his red cheek, the skin under his eye flaring with cerise. He hissed slightly, fingers darting across his skin in disbelief.

They watched each other for a moment, the air around them crackling as Tommy lowered his brows and clenched his jaw, Wilbur looking up at him, lips parted and face motionless in shock. It was the first time he looked like Will again. And it was only for a split second, before his face hardened, lip curling as he stood up, towering over Tommy. But he didn’t back down, jabbing a finger into Will’s chest.

“You’re being reckless, you’re not being the man who was my president.” Tommy didn’t know why he was hoping for even a glimpse of regret at his attempt at emotion, but Wilbur just glared down at him.

“If this is what you think will get us back L’Manberg then I’ll go along with it,” Tommy relented, a shaky hand brushing away sweat from his forehead. “But I don’t agree with it. This isn’t the right thing to do. Not the moral thing to do. What’s the point in doing anything, if you’ve lost all hope?” he asked. “You’ve got to pull yourself together, man.”

Silence coated them for a moment; horrible, damning, suffocating silence. And Tommy hoped his promise of solidarity would be enough to remind Will that he wasn’t alone, that he didn’t need to turn to this, that they could do this _together_.

But Will’s hysterical laugh broke the silence, broke Tommy’s hope as it shattered in his chest. Will wiped mock tears from his eyes, slapping his hand against his knee as he laughed, head shaking in hilarity.

“Listen, if you think rigging L’Manberg with tnt, not _lighting_ it,” he added as Will kept forcefully laughing, shoulders rising. “But rigging it with tnt, will give us the upper hand…” he trailed off as Will kept fucking laughing, everything in his chest snapping all at once. “ _Look at me_!” he screamed, a sob wracking through his body as his voice rang through the ravine. Will paused, eyes widening slightly as he blinked down at the boy in front of him, as he begged Will with his tearing eyes. “If you believe this,” he continued with shaky breaths. “Then I’ll follow you, but this isn’t the right way to do it, Wilbur.”

“Rigging L’Manberg is not going to help us get it back, I’m aware of that,” Will admitted, another saturated smile dancing on his lips. But Tommy didn’t let it fool him this time, taking a faltering step away from his brother as he spoke, voice painted in condemnation.

“But sometimes, in order to feel comfortable and safe, you need to be willing to give up that of which you are scared to lose.” He let go of a wobbly breath, eyes searching over Tommy, as if he was looking for something, he knew he was never going to find. “And in that case, I think I’ve already lost it.”

That hung in the air for a moment, glaring back at the two friends, before Tommy took another step back, the walls caving in on him. The weight of this conversation a rock tied to his ankles as Wilbur ruthlessly threw him into the sea, the last thing he could see, Will’s grin, before the water ate him up.

“I’m not going to stop you, but I’m not going through with this,” he said, voice absolute. “You’re being a moron, Wilbur. You’re being insane.” And with that, Tommy turned on his heels, and all but sprinted outside, gasping for air when he stumbled out of the cave. Stars hung in the sky, tree branches reaching for them frantically. They were never going to reach.

“Are you okay?”

Tommy’s head snapped towards the voice to find Dream up in a tree, masked face cocked down at him. He didn’t know why Dream was up in a fucking tree, in the middle of the night, right outside Pogtopia, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“I-” he tried to speak, Dream dropping down from the bare branches at the absolute brokenness of Tommy’s voice. He took a step towards the boy, arm outstretched, frowning under his mask, when another figure elegantly stepped from the curtain of vines, darkness masking the dangerous leer on his face, the only thing visible in the moonlight, his narrowed eyes.

“Dream!” Will welcomed, clasping his hands together as he walked up to them. Tommy shrunk back, and while Dream noticed this, he didn’t comment, looking back to Wilbur. “Did you hear that Schlatt is having a festival?”

“I did not,” Dream responded, voice monotone.

Tommy snarled and roughly brushed past Wilbur, heading towards the lake. He kept walking for twenty minutes, heart hurting and head screaming. What the fuck was he supposed to do? He could talk to Techno, but he doubted the man would believe him. None of them had picked up on the fracturing mind of Will, why would Techno believe him, over Will, the man he’d called a friend his whole life? He couldn’t go to Niki, because she was with Eret, and Tommy refused to speak to that man. So that left Tubbo. Tubbo would believe him, right” He had to. Tommy didn’t know what he would do if Tubbo didn’t believe him.

When the cold was getting too much to bear, Tommy shivering in his jumper, he turned back, picking his way through the forest towards the caves. He frowned when he found Will and Dream still outside, Dream seemingly watching Wilbur speak with intrigue written on his body. He nodded along as the older man spoke, leaning against a tree as Wilbur’s enflamed eyes fell on Tommy. He paused in his words for a second, before he turned back to Dream, completely ignoring the younger boy as he stood there, teeth chattering and unnoticed tears slicing down his cheeks, clinging to his jaw.

“Dream, let me be your vassal,” Will implored, gesturing between the two men. Even though Tommy was only shorter than them by a couple of inches, he’d never felt smaller in his whole life. “I understand you have a lot of tnt.”

“I do, I do,” Dream nodded slowly, blond hair swaying in the wind. “I have a bit.”

“Dream, I want to be your vassal, I want to set this up, I want to rig the city.” Wilbur kept going, listing off as Tommy stood, petrified as he watched Dream. Dream wouldn’t. His friends lived in Manberg. _George_ lived in Manberg, was a part of Schlatt’s cabinet. Dream wouldn’t put George in harm, not by his own hand. Tommy knew Dream wouldn’t.

“No, Dream. Don’t give it to him, it’s not right!” the younger boy cried out when Dream nodded, reaching his arm out to Wilbur. Tommy’s heartbeat thudded incessantly in his chest, dropping to his feet as he watched a sly grin slither onto Will’s face, as he met Dream’s hand, the two joined fingers concealing all of their fate. Two gods of damnation stood before a begging mortal; his weary words unable to reach them.

“Tommy, it’s too-” Dream cut himself off, shaking his head at something before his jaw clenched tightly. “I have to.” Tommy watched on unable to say anything else as Wilbur spoke, patting Dream’s shoulder before he folded his arms.

“Dream, I appreciate it. Tommy. _Tommy_ , what you’re not understanding is that Dream only gave you that gear,” he gestures to the sword hanging at Tommy’s side. “So, you could cause this conflict, you see? Dream doesn’t want us to win. Dream wants both Manberg and Pogtopia to be weak, that’s it. And Dream, Dream I’m not scolding you on this,” Wilbur added, turning to face the blond man as he watched on with curiosity. “That’s smart, you’re smart. I’m here to help you, I’m here to weaken both of us, so much. Manberg and Pogtopia will be nothing more.”

Dream straightened up slightly, fingers resting on his own blade as the wind brushed against him, green sweater dancing in the night air.

“I…you’re saying Manberg,” he clarified; blank, expressionless mask a stark difference to the heat in his voice. “I do want Manberg and Pogtopia to be nothing more, and I want L’Manberg to be something.”

Tommy scowled, stepping forward as he jutted his chin out towards Dream. God, he was bullshitting them, and Will couldn’t even fucking see it, too concerned in his own stupid, deluded ideas of destruction.

“Why do you want L’Manberg, Dream?” Tommy demanded, snarling as Dream looked down towards him, grin on his lips. The numerous silver scars on his jaw shone in the moonlight. “You’re the reason we had to make L’Manberg,” he accused, scowling.

“Schlatt is ambitious,” Dream shrugged, clicking his tongue. “He wants power, he wants land, he wants to expand.” His voice tightened slightly at that last bit; tone strained with anger as his fingers twitched. “You guys having your own little city where you frolicked around in the flowers, that’s fine by me. I don’t give a shit.”

“Wasn’t fine by you when we had a war over it,” Tommy hissed, watching as Dream shrugged again.

“I had a change of heart.” The words were meaningless. A declaration from the very man Tommy sacrificed his discs to that none of it ever really mattered to him. He never really cared about them, about their independence. It was just all a fucking game to him and his friends. And he had still almost won. He hadn’t cared, hadn’t given a fuck about all the bloodshed, had revelled in it, and he had still fucking won. It would’ve continued if Tommy hadn’t given him his discs, the bloodshed would’ve continued until Dream had killed every last one of them.

“Dream, this has made me ambitious,” Will laughed, the sound grating, unhinged and dripping in lunacy. “If I’m taking back power, I will be ambitious. That’s what I’m _saying_. Let me blow it up. Let me destroy it all.”

“Will no!” Tommy tried one last time, flinging his arm out in an attempt to stop it. “This isn’t right!” His solution was a lie, wouldn’t work. And yet Will had convinced himself of it, and Dream had just confirmed it.

“Tommy,” Will sighed, voice hinting at annoyance as he narrowed his eyes at the younger boy. “You were never in charge.”

“Wilbur, no.” But it was too late, Tommy watched as Dream handed Wilbur a stick of tnt, low and gravelly voice promising to deliver more tomorrow. Will’s long fingers traced the weapon, red a stark contrast to his pale skin. Tommy’s chest tightened, terror unfurling in his chest.

“Thank you, I’ll do you proud,” Will nodded, voice sounding so sincere it pained Tommy. Even as he tugged the bow off his shoulder, throat bobbing as he held it up, fingers aching.

“Wilbur, look at me,” Tommy demanded. Will turned his head, eye twitching when he was met with the metal arrowhead. He loved Wilbur, loved him like the older brother he’d never had, loved him like he was the first person he could trust. But he’d let go. He’d send the arrow flying if Will kept threatening to destroy everything else that he loved. Images of wide smiles, badly tied shoes, iced cookies and orange tulips flooded his mind. He'd let go it Wilbur threatened Tubbo's again, directly or indirectly, he didn't care. Tommy wasn't risking that. Not for anything.

“Hand me that tnt,” he insisted, fingers flexing on the wooden hold. Wilbur’s eyes widened with challenge, rolling his jaw, and Tommy shook his head in pain, before his fingers went to move. String went taunt, wood bit into his fingers, eyes narrowed to take aim. And green blurred his vision.

“Tommy, I’ll have to step in.” Tommy blinked as Dream stood in front of Wilbur, sword raised, shaking his head in warning. Tommy didn’t back down instantly, biting his bottom lip as he moved the point from Will to Dream, back to Will again. And then he lowered it, eyes shutting as shame flared through him. Shame for holding his friend, his brother, at gunpoint. Shame for not being able to pull the fucking string back. Shame for knowing what he was going to say anyway, because what else could he say? What else could he do? He had no one else, nothing else, but Wilbur.

“This isn’t right. This just isn’t right.” His eyes flew open, Wilbur watching him carefully as he buried a hand in his hair. “I’m not going to betray you, Wilbur. I’m going to stand with you, but this isn’t the right way to go about this. And you know this too, Dream,” he added, glancing over at the blond man as he sheathed his sword with a hum, completely ignoring Tommy’s words.

“This isn’t the right way to rebuild back L’Manberg.”

Will pushed his tongue into his cheek, and then, without another word to Tommy, he thanked Dream, promised to speak to him later, and turned, walking back into the cave. Tommy sighed, shoulders falling, and before he could even say anything to Dream, try and plead some more, beg for him to leave Will alone, the blond was gone. Tommy only caught a glimpse of green flying through the tree branches before the hint of the morning sun peeked up over the horizon. And he was alone again, only friend the howling winds and breaking branches of oak. 

As red streaked the grey skies, like blood pooling down decayed and torn flesh, Tommy’s knees buckled, and he fell to the ground with a soft thud. He didn’t stop the tears that fell into the dried dirt as he clutched his bow to his chest, feeling so painfully empty inside. 

He’d lost Wilbur.

Looking up to the skies, Tommy prayed to anyone up there who would listen that they would give him his brother back. He let the bow tumble from his fingers, to the ground, wrapping his arms around himself and feeling too small, too useless and too pathetic.

What was he going to do now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk when I decided to speed run this fit but im just having so much fun writing it lol 
> 
> thanks so much for your lovely comments and the kudos <3


	15. Flying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sweat more during peace: bleed less during war.”
> 
> Tommy and Tubbo tend to wounds; old and new.

Tommy winced when Tubbo brushed his red sleeve up over his shoulder, peering at the grazes that painted the other boy’s arm. Tubbo breathed an apology before he unpeeled another brown plaster, soothing it over Tommy’s split skin.

They were both littered in bandages, Tommy had like three on the one arm, and Tubbo had one on each knee. They were the badly made ones, the ones that just weren’t that sticky enough to stay on for a good amount of time, falling off as you ran. Tubbo’s nose crinkled as Tommy took his turn, slabbing the yarrow mixture on the grazing of his elbows.

They had been sitting for about an hour, the two of them on their bench as the rising sun smeared the sky with every hue of gold; pink clouds kissing each other against the pale blue backdrop. Knees pulled to his chest, Tubbo sat in his own clothes, green shirt blowing in the soft winds. It didn’t do much to ward off the cold, but Tubbo rarely got to wear his own clothes anymore, so he took the opportunity wherever he could find it. And Tommy’s hands brushing over his cuts and scrapes were warm enough for the teenager.

Tommy was next to him, legs in a basket as they tended to each other’s ailments, no one else to do it for them, on either side. Piles of bandages sat in the space between them, unrolling as they dropped onto the grass, leaden with morning dew. The stream under the cliffside they were sitting on sung against the birds, Tubbo absent mindlessly humming along to the melody as Tommy pressed against his ribs too harshly.

He murmured a protest, tapping Tommy’s hands away. The other boy rolled his eyes, but relented, hands leaving Tubbo as he sat back on the wooden bench, head leaning back against the backboard. Biting his bottom lip, Tubbo debated asking Tommy what was wrong, because he clearly had something on his mind. Tommy always jutted his jaw out when he was upset, blue eyes clouding over as he tapped his fingers incessantly. And here he was, face all tense, fingers tapping against the wood to a song and beat Tubbo couldn’t hear.

“Will’s lost it.”

His voice was heavy, strained, as if he was trying to hold back tears. Tubbo recognised the voice.

It was the same way Tommy spoke when he woke up sobbing from a nightmare, chest heaving and mouth agape, like a helpless child. It had happened a lot right after the war, the first month they’d moved into their own new home together. It had stopped being a regular occurrence as the months crept by, but a fortnight couldn’t pass without Tommy being ripped from his sleep by the shadows of war.

Tubbo never commented on it, just lightly stepped into Tommy’s room whenever he heard the grating sounds, dropping down onto the bed with his friend until they both fell asleep again. Tommy never mentioned it in the mornings, but he’d always squeeze Tubbo’s hand, lips quirking up into a soft smile.

He hoped Will and Techno were helping Tommy in the caves. Hoped Tommy wasn’t waking up to nightmares as much with them. He instantly felt guilty for thinking that, a tendril of shame unfurling in his gut. Of course, Will and Techno were helping Tommy, they thought of the teenager like a younger brother. They probably knew how to help way better than Tubbo did.

“What makes you say that?” Tubbo asked carefully, keeping his voice calm as he looked over to Tommy, the other boy blankly staring out into the horizon. Sometimes Tommy overreacted. It was probable that him and Will had just fought over something minor, and Tommy was working himself up over it, unable to break out of his own head.

“He wants-” He cut himself off with a tightly clenched jaw, shaking his head in frustration as he turned to face Tubbo, cheeks tinged red. “Tubbo, I can’t tell you, but the festival is not going to be a good day. He wants to get rid of L’Manberg, and I don’t want that-” Tommy was speaking too quickly, his friend choking on his words as he grabbed at Tubbo with his fingers, latching onto the contact as Tubbo watched on, concern growing and growing as he held onto Tommy’s shaking arms.

“Why would he do that?” he asked, brows lowered. “The festival is going to be great.”

“Because he’s lost his fucking shit, Tubbo!” Tommy cried out, face scrunching up in anguish. “He wants you blown up! He doesn’t believe that you’re here to help. Doesn’t even think _I’m_ here to help. He thinks it’s too far gone.” Tommy shook his head, and Tubbo could see the pain written on his best friend’s face as he turned away from him, blinking back angry tears.

“He thinks it’s the end of an era.” Tommy’s words sounded so defeatist, so broken and weary. Something had happened, something had been badly broken here, Tubbo realised, as he watched his friend clench his hair in his hands.

“But we have the upper hand,” Tubbo tried, frowning deeply as his hands fell onto his knees. This didn’t make sense. Will wasn’t the type of man to throw everything to the wind like this, to actively seek out destruction and chaos. Wilbur had led them to victory in the last war. Had been a solid and stable leader, a welcoming and trust-worthy friend. Someone they had all looked to, someone Tubbo had looked to. Will had saved Tubbo’s life.

“I know. I know we do. I know _we_ do, Tubbo. But Wilbur’s not the man he used to be.”

“How do I know you’re not just saying this?” Tubbo regretted the words as soon as they left his lips, Tommy’s face crumbling with despair, shoulders slumping. But he needed to know. Tommy was the only one Tubbo had ever fully counted on, without any hesitation, and pause. And he needed to know he could still do that. Could still jump off the cliff knowing Tommy would be there to catch him at the bottom.

“Tubbo, I’m going to trust you with something,” Tommy said as he grabbed his satchel from the ground. Tubbo’s eyes widened when Tommy pulled out a disc in between his fingers. “One of these discs. Just so you know I’m not crazy.” Tubbo nodded slowly as the disc passed from Tommy’s fingers to his, cold under his touch as he traced the edge carefully.

“Don’t bargain it, don’t tell anyone you have it…just _know,_ that you have it. And just know that, whatever happens, we have to trust each other, alright?” He looked up from the disc at the horrible sound of Tommy’s voice breaking, to see tears sliding down his cheeks. Tommy was instantly rubbing them away as embarrassment prickled his ears pink. “Cause I don’t know what’s happening, man.” He tried to laugh, but it just came out as another wracking sob, as Tommy buried his face in his hands.

Tubbo shuffled closer, wrapping his arms around his friend as Tommy practically crumpled into his touch, head against his chest as he sniffled. “Yeah,” Tubbo nodded against Tommy’s hair. “Of course, Tommy.”

“And we’ll get those discs back, yeah?” Tommy’s tired and muffled voice sounded as his fingers grasped around Tubbo’s shirt.

“Yeah,” he said again, followed by companionable silence as the two of them sat there for a couple of minutes. Tommy caught his breath as Tubbo rubbed circles into his back, and when he sat back up, while his face was slightly puffy, his eyes lined with red, the tears were gone.

“Why did he lie about mellohi?” Tommy asked, voice hoarse.

“To have power over you,” Tubbo said, admitting it to himself as much as Tommy. If what his friend was saying was true, then Will must’ve been slowly breaking for a while, his soul being chipped at by the corruption of Schlatt, the goading of Quackity, the weight of the last war they’d barely won.

“But I didn’t know!” Tommy objected, sounding very, very small as he curled up into himself, arms hugging his own chest, head on his knees, blond hair sticking up in tufts.

“Look at it from a president’s point of view,” Tubbo started, hand on Tommy’s knee. “You’re a valuable asset and while he has something that’s meaningful to you-”

“He is not the president anymore, Tubbo.” Tommy’s voice cut through Tubbo’s words like a falling blade, his tone as hard as the ice creeping over the lakes. Tubbo would’ve been scared at the sight of his eyes, sparking with that desire to fight, that crippling need to prove someone wrong by wielding a sword.

“Yeah,” Tubbo agreed, voice steady. “And he kept the discs to keep control over you. Once he wasn’t president, there was nothing stopping you from up and leaving.”

Tommy nodded, opening his mouth to say something, when his eyes went a bit fuzzy, looking out to the barren landscape in front of them. A small smile whispered against Tommy’s lips, as if he was seeing something Tubbo wasn’t. As if he was seeing something other than a landscape ravaged by the cold. Something other than a world savaged by the scythe of Winter.

“Tubbo,” Tommy breathed, grabbing Tubbo’s hand and squeezing softly. “We could just run away from here.” Tubbo blinked, before he turned back out to the horizon, Tommy’s hand solid in his. He let himself imagine it.

Another house, just the right size for the two of them. Right in a flower field, surrounded by a wave of colours, pinks and oranges and yellows waving at them as they rode through the plains, hair brushed by the wind as they yelped and whooped in glee. Another house, completely alone, away from the painful memories and current threats. Another house, not a weapon in sight. No swords kicked under tables; no bows propped up against kitchen counters. Just vases of orange tulips, shelves stacked with books and windows with blue shutters. Just him and Tommy, breathing slowly, each breath a guarantee instead of a gamble. He could keep Tommy safe there. Keep him tucked away from everything and everyone that wanted to hurt him. Could keep Tommy safe. 

“We could start a new life,” Tubbo murmured, lashes flickering as he turned back to Tommy.

“Have everything we ever wanted,” his friend whispered, a wistful, faraway look in his bright eyes. Every hue of blue glowed back at him, beaming brightly, as if someone had stolen away the colour from the sky and handed it to Tommy for safe keeping.

“Have everything we cared about, and we’d never have to…” he trailed off when Tommy’s hand fell from his, and his friend stood up, leaning against the wooden fence. “Are you thinking about it?” Tubbo asked, as he stayed seated on the bench, hands wrapping around his ankles as he chewed on his lip.

“We have to stay,” Tommy said, clearly trying to sound more certain that he was. “For L’Manberg. We’re not giving up now.” And although the idea of a home where he didn’t have to constantly check over his shoulder, where he wasn’t trapped under a roof with men who bared their teeth like fangs, who weaponised every single word against each other, was bright in Tubbo’s mind, he nodded in agreement.

“We won’t,” he agreed, standing up to stand beside Tommy, jumping up onto the fence. The wood was solid under his feet as he leaned forward, the wind kissing his cheeks. Tommy climbed up beside them, both of them reaching out into the distance desperately as they agreed to stay right where they were.

“We can restore it,” Tubbo said, sending a glance towards Tommy. “It’s not too far gone.”

“Tread lightly, Tubbo,” his friend said, clamping a protective hand on his shoulder. “And remember you can’t trust anyone. We’ll get it back,” he said as he turned to look over his shoulder, blue eyes looking back towards L’Manberg. “But we can only trust each other. We can’t trust Wilbur anymore.” The words were hung with sorrow and remorse, but the truth in them rung out louder than anything else.

“He might snap out of it,” Tommy tried, tremble in his voice betraying that he knew that was unlikely. “Don’t give up on him, don’t give up on Wilbur. He might’ve lost his fucking nut, but don’t give up on him. And whatever we do, we can’t give up on each other.”

Tubbo nodded, brown hair falling in his face as they both turned back out to the world that stretched out in front of them. Two pairs of blue eyes looked out into the distance, out into the future.

And a small house, painted in orange flowers and hope, waited for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so im sorry this is so short but I needed to write some happy Tubbo and Tommy best friend shit after that fucking stream omg wtf? I am so hyped to write the rest of this pic oml the c o n t e n t yessir
> 
> as always, I can't express how much the kudos and your incredible comments mean to me, thank you so much <3


	16. Today of All Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Kill one, terrify a thousand." - Sun Tzu
> 
> Everything goes to shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh my longest chapter ever, hope you enjoy it - sorry in advance for the angst boys ;) -

Dream used the envelope to fan himself as he moved through his house, gathering his tools. It was nice paper, the fancy kind that people sent for weddings, little gold trimming around the edge. Or for funerals, name printed in neat ink. He already knew what it was, recognised Tubbo’s handwriting.

He didn’t know why the hell they’d get the kid to do it. His scrawl was barely legible. But he’d clearly tried his best, only one smudgy fingerprint on the back of the envelope. Dream almost felt bad as he tossed it over his shoulder. Hood pulled over his head, sword strapped across his back, Dream placed his mask on.

The door locked behind him; the unopened envelope sitting at the top of the bin.

*

Niki frowned at the piece of card in front of her. She sat on the arm of Eret’s throne, feet tapping on the stone, as he stared down at his own invitation. Silence coated them both, settling in like a second skin as Niki chewed on her bottom lip. _President Schlatt invites you to celebrate democracy with the citizens of Manberg_ , the invite read in a deep black ink. She traced the writing, fingers moving with the letters.

“Are you going?”

Eret shrugged, dropping his head into his hands. “Are you?”

Niki thought of Tubbo, of the suit that hung loosely on his shoulders, the green tie that snaked tightly around his throat. The gaunt look in his barren eyes, saturated, like a dying wildflower. Waiting to be mercifully plucked from its stem. Guilt clenched her heart.

She nodded, gripping the card tightly.

*

Sapnap was surprised when he found Tubbo following him. He’d been aware of someone walking behind him for a couple minutes before he decided to do anything, spinning around with a raised dagger. Tubbo’s eyes flashed with fear, and he stumbled back, hands held out in innocence. “The fuck are you doing, kid?” he asked, gingerly lowering the weapon as Tubbo waggled his arm in front of him.

“It’s an invitation,” he explained once Sapnap plucked the envelope from his hands, nose crinkling when he saw his own name scrawled onto the front. “A _festival_?” Sapnap questioned incredulously after he tore the envelope open with his teeth.

Tubbo just nodded eagerly. Sighing, he folded the invite over before pocketing it. Then he turned on his heels, wanting to start wandering again. He’d found himself doing it a lot recently. Just wandering the plains alone, head empty. And Tubbo had kind of been ruining his vibe.

“Will I see you there?” The kid called after him. Sapnap didn’t bother glancing back, but the scrunched-up card burned an uncomfortable hole in his pocket. All Tubbo received in response was an evasive shrug, before the older man disappeared into the woods.

*

Technoblade was confused. He didn’t understand why he was being invited to Manberg’s festival. He was sure Schlatt knew he was with Will and Tommy. He had made his opinion on Schlatt’s administration pretty clear. He’d come here on the basis of helping his friends, sure, but also on the notion that any form of government should be abolished.

This made no sense. But there it was, name written right there, declaring his status as welcome. Not exiled like his friends. He wouldn’t be shot instantly if he stepped over the borders. Unless Schlatt didn't know, and thought he wasn't taking any sides?

Not that any of that mattered, it wasn’t like he was going to go anyway. Or so Techno had thought, before Will found him with the letter in his hands, and after reading it, eyes widening, demanded he go. And then there were words of bombs, of speeches, of destruction and retribution. And Techno watched as his brother’s image crumbled in front of him, leaving behind a whisper of insanity as Will’s fingers dug into his arm harshly, blue kissing his skin under his white shirt.

And who was Technoblade to say no to Wilbur?

So, he wandered out of the caves, invitation slotted inside his pocket, red coat dancing around his legs as he walked. Step after step, Technoblade walked towards Manberg. Hair swishing against the back of his neck in the wind, red eyes low. Crossbow strapped to his back.

****

It was getting harder for Tommy to remember when he’d woken up. Or if he’d ever gone to sleep. Or if he’d gone to sleep years ago, and all of this was just one endless nightmare. Or if he’d really died in the duel with Dream, and this was some sort of personal hell.

He’d started seeing things in broad daylight. Shadows, mostly. But sometimes it was faceless soldiers, sprinting at him with a raised blade. And Tommy would cry out, hands going to cover his stomach as they mercilessly gored him, flesh tearing apart, ripped apart at the seams. But there would be no blood, and after a second there was no sword, and Tommy was left alone again in the caves, screaming silence deafening him.

God, he sounded fucking insane. He was going fucking insane. Seeing shadows and shit.

“I need you to listen to me.”

Tommy looked up from the sword lying on his knees, blinking up at the man in front of him. Wilbur looked a lot calmer than last week, eyes no longer burning with mania, as he tilted his head down towards Tommy. But Tommy wasn’t fooled by the poised face, the straightened back. He could still hear the flames that licked his words. The twitching of his fingers, the tight clench of his jaw whenever someone so much as breathed too loudly around him.

Tommy had spent the whole week avoiding Will. Because hiding was easier than facing the truth of the matter. His brother was losing himself. And Tommy had to decide whether he was going to follow him, or abandon him, leaving him to burn himself alive from the inside out.

It wasn’t that hard to stay in the shadows of their cave. He was pretty sure Wilbur had been avoiding him too. He ate dinner at night on his own, Techno always leaving a plate on the stove for him. He pretended to sleep, face buried, hidden, in the mattress. And he spent more time in his tunnel, wandering up and down until his feet burned.

Brown waves framed a pale face as hands clasped together. Like a prayer. “And I need you to respect this.”

They were back in the fucking tower again, the stone walls causing their voices to echo around them. Tommy was sitting against the wall, cleaning his blade. Wilbur was pacing. They were both waiting. The music from the festival nearby mocked them, melodic lilts scratching at their ears.

“Manberg is being detonated tonight.” Tommy’s hands stilled on his sword. “Whether you’re with me or not.” He didn’t speak, jaw latched.

Will let lose a strained sigh, and Tommy could see the barely tethered frustration on his face before he stopped pacing and crouched down in front of him. A hand on his shoulder. It burned.

“But we’ve been through so much together, man.” Wilbur smiled. Tommy kept his head down, eyes painfully trained on the weapon weighing down on him. “Don’t throw that all away because of your weird ideas of patriotism and heroism. This isn’t about any of that.”

Cold skin met flushed skin as Wilbur lightly tilted Tommy’s jaw up so he would look at him. The smile was still there, soft and convivial. But something burned horribly behind Will’s eyes. Red and angry and frightening. “This is your last chance to join me.”

The words didn’t even pretend to be welcoming. It was a threat. His brother was _threatening_ him. So why was uncertainty firing in his gut, as the grasp on his shoulder got tighter and tighter, Will’s fingers digging in.

“I’m with you.” The words left his lips before he even knew what he was saying. He just knew it felt right. It had always been him and Will. From the very start. He couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , give up on that now. He could help Will. Could temper him, help him back.

“Really?” Tone broken and chipped, accompanied shortly with a breathless, unbelieving laugh, as Will’s harsh grasp fell, and Tommy was pulled into a short hug. The sword fell onto the floor with a clatter as Tommy wrapped his arms around Will’s neck. He ignored the dark shadow that crept over his soul, teeth bared in warning. This could be enough for now.

“Here’s the plan. Here’s the plan, Tommy,” Will grinned widely, comforting arms instantly gone as he stood up again, resuming his pacing. “On the phrase, _and let the festival begin_ , I’m pressing the button.”

“And this is what Tubbo wants?” Tommy asked, standing up. “Definitely?” He hadn’t seen Tubbo in a week, but every day since then, he’d dreamed of running away. Dreamed of freedom. But they wouldn’t get it by running, abandoning their family. They’d earn it.

“Tubbo was with me when I explained the plan.”

Tommy nodded tightly, ignoring Will’s sharp gaze as he bent down beside the shelves and shelves of storage. This tower had always been used as a garbage dump, free reign resigning over all the chests and each item in them. It had always been a free for all, but Tommy guessed that didn’t really apply to him anymore, as he ducked his head inside one of the wooden chests, rifling through chipped pieces of armour and axes with snapped handles. This was Manberg territory. He supposed the usual rules didn’t apply to exiles.

He was hyperaware of Will behind him as he continued scourging through chests, pulling himself up to check the highest ones. His friend was murmuring to himself, and while Tommy couldn’t hear the words he was saying, the poison leaked through the air, spilling dark ink all over Tommy’s mind.

Giving a satisfied hum, he found an iron helmet that wasn’t too bashed in. Wobbling slightly, Tommy managed to drop back down onto the ground without completely decking it. His own armour clinked together when he moved, metal scraping against each other. Maybe he should take it off, in case anyone heard him coming. Maybe it put him at a disadvantage. Peering down at the metal moulded over his torso, Tommy flicked his finger against the chestplate.

“Today’s gonna be great.” Wilbur’s loud ramblings pulled him out of his reverie, plunging him back into the icy waters his mind kept trying to pull him out of. Tommy looked up at him when Will’s lips twitched upwards. His smile went a little too far up his face.

“Look, Tommy, let’s be friends. Just for today, even though you disagree with me on this. I know you’ll change after you see how much of advantage this will give us.” Tommy didn’t even acknowledge that, just held out the helm. It was heavy in his fingers, metal cool against his palms.

“Can you put this on? Wilbur, please, just for me,” he added when Will just raised his brows at him.

“Fine. There.” Will dropped the helmet onto his head, unruly curls still springing up, a sardonic smile plastered on his face. A cruel smile accompanied with the disturbed and irrational saturation in his eyes. Like a part of Will had faded, leaving behind merely an impression of the kind man he had once been.

But even a sliver of that humanity was better than nothing. Don’t give up on him.

“You don’t have to do this,” Tommy said, begging the words to work. He had to try one last time. For himself, for Tubbo. For Will. “It’s our home.”

“I’ve invested so much time into this now, Tommy,” Will sighed, revealing a match that had been hidden in his sleeve. The wooden stick stood tall in his pale fingers. He spoke like it meant nothing. Like his words held no weight. Like with each word he said, with each new proclamation of destruction threatened to completely ruin Tommy.

“Why do you want to be the villain so badly?” he asked, needing to know, face painted in confusion and a brush of abhorrence.

“We are the villains!” Will shouted, sharp features flaring with anger. The switch from persuasive to aggressive, from warm to cold, the ice burning Tommy’s soul, was getting quicker and quicker each time. Like Will would completely change personality with the mere blink of an eye. Like someone would creep over his heart, taking control for a moment. Like someone kept chipping away at the clay, sometimes scratching too deep, the mould collapsing.

“We didn’t win the election, and we’re trying to fight for it back.” Before Tommy could object, before he could say anything, Will was grabbing onto his arm. Tommy yelped out, more in fright than pain, but Wilbur didn’t flinch. He tugged the younger boy outside of the tower, the two of them standing on the hill that overlooked L’Manberg.

Stands surrounded the city centre, standing tall with their bright, colourful flags and banners. The smell of warm bread, of fresh pastries, danced in the air. People milled around the festival grounds, waiting for their president. Children grabbed onto their parents’ arms, tugging them towards the stands holding out small wooden toys, greedy smiles on their rosy faces. People held sparklers in their hands, the flickering light shining up onto their grins.

Tommy spotted Niki in the crowd, arm in arm with Eret. He wondered if Will saw her too, dark hair blowing in the wind slightly.

“Look how lovely it looks,” Will demanded, grasp on Tommy’s forearm tight, reprimanding. “Look at how nice it all looks under Schlatt.”

The sky was streaked in a vicious orange, like God had lit the heavens on fire and the flames were falling down to the two of them as they stood watching.

“So why would we blow it up?” Tommy yanked his arm from Will’s grip, whipping his head round to glare at him.

Wilbur’s face morphed into something unrecognisable. Tommy took an instinctive step back.

“Because if I can’t have it, no one can.”

Fingers clenched into fists. Hoarse yell dying down to a pant. The flickering flames of a remorseless, raw rage smothering into smithereens. Brown eyes crashed against blue. Blue broke first, glancing away. Vision swum slightly, the man in front of him fading in and out, in beat to his heartbeat.

Dread seized him. A dream? Was this a dream? Blood rushed through his mouth, slithering, slipped down his throat. Choking him, Tommy spluttered on his own blood, eyes wild and panicked as anxiety screamed through his arteries, biting down on every nerve he had.

Despite the dull pain they were causing him, Tommy gripped onto Will’s fingers. The contact burned him, but it helped still his rising panic. Not a dream. This wasn’t a dream; he was here, and it was fine.

He slowly became aware that Will was speaking when the man moved, fingers unlatching from Tommy.

“No one should be allowed this.” Will stood close to the edge, feet teetering over. He glanced over his shoulder, brown hair blowing in his face. Will reached up to push it away, tucking it under the helm. He gestured Tommy to come over. Complying, Tommy moved slowly, movements feeling a second behind his mind. He stopped before his feet left the edge. Will continued to balance half his sole over the cliff. The crappy, worn black shoelaces danced in the air.

“Tommy, you’re my friend today. We are friends and today you’re my ally.” A nod. “If you don’t want it all on you, that’s fine. You’re not an accomplice, just a bystander, a witness. You don’t have to worry, you’re in the clear. I’ll take the fall for us.” Tommy tried to ignore the glimmer of hope that sparked in his chest.

Tommy stood, feet still away from the edge, as Will tugged off his helmet. Tommy could still feel the invisible blood dripping down his arms, washing with sweat and tears and torn flesh. A walking, talking slab of whipped meat. “Just enjoy the show.”

“You know what I’m doing here, Tommy? I’m creating a power vacuum! And here’s, oh here’s the good bit. You’re gonna like this, Tommy.” Will’s head snapped down to look at him. “You know who can fill that vacuum? Who can claim the power? You.”

A shake of the head. Tommy stood back, moving wordlessly from the steep edge, further away from the festival. Away from Will and the blood that had been pooling at his feet.

“I’d rather die with honour than win like that, win by destroying everything,” he declared, voice feeling more real that he felt. Will blinked at him, not hiding the disappointment that clouded his face. Tommy didn’t say anything else, stepping back into the cover of the tower, heading back towards the chests.

He had his own sword, but he could always do with a bow. And Will had nothing to defend himself with if things went to shit. If things went as south as Tommy was predicting they did. And while his brother had lost his fucking shit, had grinded Tommy down into accepting there was no way they were going to win this the way he wanted to, he didn’t want Will to die.

Snatching a sword from beside one of the chests, Tommy held it out to Will; hilt towards the older man as the blade threatened to cut into his skin. Wilbur took it wordlessly, and Tommy went about searching for another weapon for himself.

“You’ve given me a sword?” Will’s voice sounded underwater as Tommy picked up an axe, shifting it from hand to hand before he tossed it back, the weight too off centred. If he just focused on the task at hand, if he just ignored the creeping, dark doubt in the back of his mind to whether any of this was even fucking real, he’d be fine. He’d get through the night.

Tommy shrugged. “Like you said, it might go all tits up and we want to-”

Will cut him off. “This is Niki’s sword.” Tommy turned to find Will standing with a stiff back, sword lying on two open palms. Gone was the determination and intensity in Will’s face, replaced with a stifling, barren look. 

“ _Alright_? I didn’t know that.” Tommy frowned, rolling his eyes slightly.

“Why have you given me this?” Will demanded, glaring at Tommy as if he had just personally insulted him.

“I told you, we might need to-”

“What are you trying to imply?”

“ _Nothing_.” The bit out words hung in the air for a moment. Will’s eyes fell back down onto the blade, fingers tracing the finely carved weapon. Crashing waves had been beautifully engraved into the metal, wrapping around the hilt in solid movement, waves curling in on themselves.

“They mean nothing to me.”

Whispers of his friends appeared behind Wilbur. They weren’t real. They weren’t real, no matter how real they looked; Niki’s withered and greying hand whispering against Will’s cheek. Tubbo’s broken eyes, face so gaunt he looked hollow, like a wooden doll, paint chipping and peeling. Fundy’s ashen skin. If Tommy blew, the ghost might blow away, crumbling into smithereens. Maybe they would all blow away. Maybe they would take him with them.

“You don’t mean that,” Tommy objected. When he spoke, the ghosts disappeared, but the imprint of them stayed in Tommy’s mind, stayed whispering in his ears. He could hear all of them, all of their voices singing into his soul.

Neither of the men missed the desperation in the waver of his voice. Neither of them commented on it. Biting down on his cheek a bit too hard, a nauseating tinge of metal coating his mouth, Tommy gestured for Will to follow him. Trainers scuffing, feet barely picking up as they walked in silence.

Tommy headed straight for one of the buildings that overlooked the main festival grounds, checking the sword strapped to his back was tight enough before he moved. He grabbed onto a metal pipe that ran down the side of the wall, fingers screaming out in pain as he pulled himself up. Scaling the wall, the wall bit back, Tommy’s fingers starting to bleed after catching on an exposed shard of metal.

He didn’t wait for Will when he reached the top. Crouching on a window ledge, Tommy wrapped his palms in his sleeves. Pressing his hands to the glass, he peered in, glass cool against his face. When he was pretty sure there was no one inside, he snatched the sword from his back, and used the hilt to smash the window in.

The glass caved, shattering. He cringed at the loudness, holding his breath for a moment as he waited for someone to burst into the room, finding him sitting in the window and promptly shout for someone to come merk him with a fucking sword. But no one came, and no one stabbed him, so Tommy gingerly jumped down into the room, abraded trainers landing softly.

Will followed after him, brushing glass from his arms as he came up beside Tommy. They moved mutely, taking place at a window that overlooked the whole festival. The darkening sky was fought away with hanging lanterns, the light basking the area in warmth, despite the winter cold. There had to be at least a hundred people, milling around, heads thrown back in laughter.

They looked happy.

Leaning against the wall, Tommy’s head met stone. Eyes scanning the area, they fell on his best friend. Tubbo was walking through the sea of people, behind Schlatt. The older man was speaking to every single person he passed, holding their shoulders, shaking their hands, lightly flicking the kids’ noses. His suit was pressed and sharp; a black pin in a sea of colour.

His hands pressed against the windowpane, the condensation slipping around his skin. Tubbo didn’t see him, but Tommy kept looking. His friend awkwardly smiled at the people around him, keeping near Schlatt as he shepherded him towards the podium.

Tommy was bit with the realisation that he hadn’t been happy in a while.

He chewed on his lip as Tubbo and Schlatt walked up the podium, which was now made from black stone, solid and soaring, as purple banners flew, fabric breathing in the wind. Quackity was already on the stage, introducing Schlatt, fingers curled tightly around the microphone as a wide grin split his face. George was standing at the back, arms folded and shadows covering him like a cloak. Schlatt started clapping when he reached the stage, wavy hair slightly wild as he raked two hands through it.

“Welcome everyone, to the Manberg Festival!”

Cheers echoed, claps rioting around the walls. Tommy shrank down against the wall, wrapping his arms around himself. Will was standing too close to the windows, eyes wide and unblinking. Tommy tried to tug him out of sight, but Will just snatched his arm out of grasp, glaring down at Tommy with a cast of annoyance on his face.

“Where’s the button?” Tommy demanded. He didn’t need to worry about keeping his voice down, the booming of Schlatt’s introduction and the resonate of applause masked his own small words.

“I’m not telling you.”

Something in Tommy’s soul snapped. “We’re meant to be in this together!” he protested, roughly shoving Will backwards. The older man stumbled but didn’t fall. His eyes widened, lips parting slightly as he watched Tommy shake with emotion.

“It’s over there,” he replied, pointing out the window, past the podium. Past Tubbo. “Over that hill.” His tone dropped, voice cracking slightly. He glanced over his shoulder to meet Tommy’s eyes, brown soft. Tommy saw the change flash over his face.

Before Tommy could respond, before he could grab onto his friend and shake the old Will back to life, Schlatt’s voice got louder, his words thunderous. “I enjoy a good party, y’know? So, I threw one for all of us. So we could all revel in the fruits of this beautiful country. Thanks all for being here,” he grinned, revealing rows of perfectly white teeth.

“So, let’s party!”

And with that, music started up again, a band hidden away somewhere as they strummed a soft jig. And people clapped again before they dispersed, milling to the stands and the dancefloor and the games. Golden warmth filled the air, in the manifestation of steaming mugs of hot cocoa being handed out, the melodic playing of the fiddle as children spun each other around, arms linked.

And the warmth died, dripping away when Will tugged on Tommy’s arm, pulling him away from the window. “I’m…I’m having second thoughts,” he whispered, eyes glassy. He said it more to himself than Tommy, like he didn’t really believe what he was saying.

“These are my friends; I don’t know if-”

"You shouldn’t,” Tommy said instantly, cutting him off. “We don’t need to blow it up. We can take it back, man. We don’t need to do anything tonight.” He almost forgot how to breathe with how fast he was speaking. He clung onto Will’s tattered sleeves, grasping at the threads of his coat, of their friendship, of everything.

“But this is the opportunity.” Will’s voice was slow and thick as he spoke. But he didn’t push Tommy away. His hands stayed on his wrists.

“We can take it slow; we can take it slow!” Tommy said, hope pulling his lips into a smile. He repeated everything he said, needing the words to sink into Will. Needed the words to embroider themselves into their skins, needed the words to work.

“If I don’t blow it up tonight, when am I going to blow it up?” Will’s eyes met Tommy’s, both tired, both weary but both determined. One determined to abandon his ideals in order to destroy everything, smash it down to ruins. One determined to wield his ideals like a weapon, in order to bring his brother back from the brink, to protect everything he loved.

“You don’t have to,” Tommy tried. Will looked away, eyes gazing out of the window. “Not now,” he added, trying to convince him. “Look how happy everyone is,” he said, letting go off Will to point out the window. He found Tubbo instantly, standing beside Niki and Eret.

Will groaned, shoving the palms of his hands into his eyes. Tommy kept going, his own heart sinking as he watched his friends. Niki wrapped an arm around Tubbo as the three of them spoke, the teenager in between the others.

“Look, look, even Tubbo. Even Tubbo is having a great time in his little suit,” Tommy said, aware of the block in his own throat as the sudden desire to just hug Tubbo protectively and never ever fucking let go seized his chest.

“Fuck,” Will hissed. Tommy flinched, turning around to see Will standing, forehead against the glass. “I don’t wanna look at him in his suit.”

“He’s happy,” Tommy said, words stern as Will tried to shout over him. ‘He’s happy,’ was clashed unmelodically against, ‘Don’t say that.’

“No, no,” Will shook his head, hands harshly tugging at his own hair. It looked painful. Tommy reached up, hands lightly touching Will’s.

“Don’t you want him to be happy?” he asked, slightly breathless.

“Tommy if I don’t do it now, what happens if this is the only chance I get? Everyone’s in this close situation, I could do some real damage…” he trailed off, head shaking. “Schlatt needs consequences for his actions. He needs put down a peg.” Those words were spoken viciously, like needles scratching against wood.

“And who said that’s up to you?” Tommy asked, voice hoarse. “Why is it up to you to get to decide who lives and who doesn’t?”

Wilbur didn’t respond.

Tommy took in a shaky breath. No, he couldn’t fight against him. This was his chance to help Will, to save him. Not isolate him further. “I’m not going to stop you but-”

He was cut off by a soft, wistful whisper. The gold from the lanterns sent shapes of light dancing across Will’s face. Tommy looked down at his own cracked fingers to find the same shapes, drifting across his skin. “They’re all going off to dance.”

“We could always try and speak to Tubbo,” Tommy tried. Will didn’t acknowledge him.

“Look at them all. They’re all having so much fun together. Look at this, Jesus Christ, I’m jealous,” he laughed bitterly, face painted in longing as the two of them watched. Even Schlatt was there with them. He was awkwardly slow dancing with Quackity, lips slightly curled as the younger man kept treading on his feet. Niki and Eret were dancing together, smiles decorating both of their faces as they moved gracefully. Sapnap had appeared at some point, and while he wasn’t dancing, he was perched on a wooden fence, speaking with George, who was leaning against Sapnap’s chest, face a cast of sleepiness.

“I wanna be dancing, man,” Will whispered.

Tommy nodded. “I know.” So did he.

“You wanna try talk to Tubbo? I can call this off,” Will offered. It was the sincerest thing he’d said in months. Tommy nodded before grabbing the watch from his back pocket. Swiping his fingers over the glass to wipe the dust off, Tommy ignored the way his heart hurt at the sight of it.

It was Phil’s. Techno had given it to him his second night here, when he’d found Tommy at the very bottom of the ravine, breathing shaky and nerves shot.

_"Hey kid." Tommy glanced up to see Techno leaning against the wall, tilting his head down at him. "What're you doin' down 'ere?"_

_"Thinking." He was curt, not wanting to speak to his friend, not wanting his friend to see him like this. His friends already looked at him like he was a child, it wasn't like he could tell them he couldn't sleep because he was scared of nightmares. Couldn't tell them he was terrified, because he couldn't tell what was real, what was real and happening, and what was a dream, what was a slow and long and torturous nightmare._

_"Thinkin'" Techno nodded, liking his lips. He came to sit beside the younger boy, folding his long legs into a basket. "Nice."_

_"I can't ever tell what time it is down here," Tommy sighed, leaning his head on his grazed knees._

_"I got somethin' that might help with that," Techno smiled kindly, ruffling through his pocket. Tommy blinked when Techno extended a pocket watch. It was kind of crappy, scraped and scratched, the gold metal flaking and peeling. The glass was chipped, Tommy's reflection distorted as Techno pressed it into his hand. "It's a special watch," Techno murmured sleepily as he rested his head against Tommy's shoulder. "Keeps you safe."_

_"That's not true," Tommy snorted, turning the watch over in the palm of his hand._

_"Is too," Techno retorted. "I've never found myself in danger when I've had this watch on me. Works every time."_

_"Who'd you steal it from?" Tommy asked, tongue pushed into his cheek._

_"Phil gave it to me. Now it's yours."_

Tommy clenched the scratched and worn watch, before he bent down to get a clearer view of the sun. He pointed it down at Tubbo, watching as a white point of light aimed itself directly at his chest. He moved it ever so slightly around until Tubbo noticed it, holding his breath as the light moved to Tubbo’s shoulders, his neck, his fingers.

And then his friend’s head snapped up, worry knitting across his brows before his eyes met Tommy’s. A nod followed by another.

Slipping the watch back into his pocket, Tommy watched as Tubbo slunk away from the dancing crowd. Brisk walk to jog to full on sprint. Tubbo weaved his way in and out of the sea of people, ducking inside the building silently. Tommy was moving instantly, leaping down the stairs to meet his friend.

Maybe if he’d stayed another second, he would have seen Schlatt’s eyes watching. The man’s face falling for a split second, bitter disappointment wrapping itself around his harsh, strong features. Before it vanished, replaced with the mask of nonchalance, as he returned to his party.

“Hey guys, what’s going on?” Tubbo asked once Will came up beside them, Tommy stepping slightly away.

“Tubbo, I’m having second thoughts.”

“Second thoughts about what?”

“Tubbo, when are you doing your speech?” Will asked, ignoring Tubbo’s question. The teenager shot a look towards Tommy, who just shook his head tightly in response. They were so close, so close to convincing Wilbur.

“In about twenty minutes or so. Why?”

“Tubbo, I need you to…” Will trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tubbo, is he a good leader?”

“Schlatt?” Tubbo asked, confused.

“Honestly,” Will said, voice dangerously low. “Just tell me honestly. Friend to friend.”

“Friend to friend,” Tubbo started, voice uncertain. “He’s made a lot of positive improvements, but he has some weird ideals.” He spoke quickly, as if he was afraid this was a setup, as if he was afraid Will might unsheathe his sword and impale him where he stood. Tommy didn’t blame Tubbo for being scared. He was too.

“Is that good enough to murder?” Will muttered under his breath, face in his hands as he groaned in annoyance. Tommy frowned, but decided to leave Will to himself, turning to Tubbo, who was watching on, confusion on his face. 

“Are you happier?” Tommy asked, hand on the other boy's shoulder. His friend looked up at him, smiling as he shook his head, brown locks falling in his face. “Definitely not as happy as I was when you guys where in charge.”

Tommy squeezed Tubbo’s shoulder lightly, but before he could say anything else, anything promising or comforting, Will’s sharp voice was cutting through the air.

“We could-what are the chances Schlatt would give up if we blew this whole fucking thing to the ground?” Will rambled, hands mimicking explosions. Tubbo stilled under Tommy’s hand.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “Schlatt would stop at nothing.”

“But if there was no more Manberg,” Will tried, cocking his head.

“He’s been to rock bottom before,” Tubbo reminded him. Tommy nodded in agreement.

“Remember when Dream banned him?” He’d never really known why Schlatt and Dream had fought, never quite figured out the reason, but he remembered the day they did. It had been before the war for independence, back before any of it. Tommy just remembered coming out of his house after hearing shouts, pulling him from painting his walls.

And Dream had been standing there, sword pointed right at Schlatt’s throat, as the other man was on the ground, up on his elbows. That was the first time Tommy had ever seen Dream fucking _pissed_. He’d snarled, picking Schlatt up by the collar and pushed him away, telling him if he ever dared coming back to his land, he’d gut him where he stood.

“And he came back,” Tubbo said. “He’s the kind of person to build it all up again, I reckon. Schlatt’s not a quitter.”

There was a pause, and both of the teenagers watched as Wilbur took in a breath, rolled his shoulders back, and looked Tubbo dead in the eye.

“Do you think we should blow it up?” he asked, voice unyielding, unmoving.

“No,” Tubbo shook his head, even if he sounded unsure.

“I’m with you, Tubbo,” Tommy nodded, trying to throw his friend a smile, only for it to come out as a grimace.

“Tubbo, you told me we should,” Will murmured, tone laced in barely restrained infuriation.

“Will, I trust your judgement-” Tubbo tried, taking a step forward. His polished shoe slammed against the wooden floor. Will shook his head, lips curling.

“You’re just a yes man, aren’t you?” he spat, eyes narrowed. Anger flared in Tommy.

“He’s not just a yes man,” he disputed, stepping instinctively in front of his friend as Tubbo shrunk away from Will. The older man blatantly ignored him, pointing an accusing finger at Tubbo.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve done this. Tubbo, think for yourself.”

“I don’t think you should blow it up, there are other ways,” Tubbo stammered.

“Yes Wilbur, he’s right. He’s right,” Tommy stressed. Wilbur’s jaw unlatched, nose crinkling, but before he could speak, Quackity’s voice rang out over them, breaking the stiff air.

“Go,” Will ordered, turning away from the two of them, starting back up the stairs. “Go join them.”

“Tubbo,” Tommy said. Tubbo paused in the threshold, looking back over his shoulder with heavy eyes. “Be safe.” He was met with a nod.

“Tubbo wait!” Tommy turned to see Will running back down the stairs, pulling his beanie over his head before he slipped out the door after Tubbo. He reappeared a couple of moments after, ignoring Tommy’s harsh gaze.

“You can’t just insult him like that,” Tommy snarled as Will brushed past him.

“I’ve put it into his hands,” Will shrugged. “If he says the line-”

“You know he’s just going to do what you want!” Tommy argued. “You know he struggles with that.” How could he do that to Tubbo? How could he push his stupid fucking, destructive decisions onto Tubbo, who was only in the position he was because of Will. “You know what you want, man. You can’t pin it on him, that’s not fair.”

“It’s in his hands.” Was all Will said, voice smooth.

“Why?” Tommy begged angrily, nostrils flaring. “That’s not fair! Why would you do that?”

“I haven’t given him the reins to shirk responsibility,” Will hissed. Liar. Liar. Fucking liar. “I’ve given him the reins because he’s _supposed_ to say this line, Schlatt has proofed this speech, Tommy. He’ll know if Tubbo leaves a line out. I’ve given him this because if he really isn’t just a yes man, isn’t just a traitor, he’ll risk it to save his nation, his friends.”

Horror unfurled in Tommy’s chest, his fists clenching as Wilbur looked out the window with a calm gaze. Like he wasn’t acting like a fucking psychopath. Like he wasn’t endangering Tubbo’s goddamn life.

“So this is some sort of weird, fucking _test_?” he spat, incredulous.

“This is all one fucking test, Tommy,” Will yelled back, eyes flickering. They stood, both shaking and slightly panting, as anger coursed through both of them. But before either of them could say anything, or punch anything like Tommy fucking wanted to do, Schlatt’s voice roared.

“Tubbo’s about to give his speech.” Brown crashed furiously against blue as Tommy pressed his lips together and Will’s jaw twitched. “So, everyone please give a round of applause for my right-hand man, Tubbo.”

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen, I’d like you to look around at what we’ve built today. Look around to each other. All of this was possible through democracy, and our president, Jschlatt. And isn’t that what this festival’s all about? Democracy. Our people have been beaten down by royals, and by dictators for so long. And now, we are finally free. Free to elect who we want, free to be who we want, and most importantly, free to go wherever we want, without the restraints of those big, black walls. And so, with that in mind, I’d like to thank everyone for coming to the festival.”

Tommy unclenched his jaw when he heard a low, guttural chuckle. Will did the same, face falling into slight concern as the tension between the two brothers paused for a moment. Tommy swore under his breath as he ran up the stairs back to their spot, taking them two at a time. His breath caught when he saw Schlatt standing beside Tubbo, hand on his shoulder.

“What is it, Schlatt?” Tubbo asked, and Tommy had never heard him sound so young, so small and brittle.

“Nah, I was just…” Schlatt shook his head wistfully, smile planted on his face, unmoving. “I was just thinking about it all. You know, we like to have fun.”

“Yeah,” Tubbo nodded, casting a quick glance out to the crowd, eyes wide. “We have fun.”

“Anything else in the speech, big guy?” Schlatt asked, brows raised.

“No, no, let the festival begin.” Tommy’s knees threatened to buckle. Heart sinking, he shook his head, even though Tubbo couldn’t see him from where he was standing. Fingers brushing glass, face wincing. He didn’t even speak when Will laughed, a short, grating sound that split his head, before the older man shoved past. Tommy watched as Will climbed back out of the window they’d come in from, dropping out of sight.

“Hey, uh, Quackity,” Schlatt said as Tommy turned back to watch. He frowned, brown knitting together as Quackity grabbed Tubbo’s arms, pulling out chains from inside his blazer. Wait, what? What the fuck?

“Help me with something here,” Schlatt said, nodding his head, hands slouched in his front pockets as Quackity wrapped the chains around Tubbo’s wrists, shoving him down onto the chair on the stage. A silence fell over the festival, the violins screeching to a halt, everyone’s breath being carried away by the wind. What the fuck?

“Wait, Schlatt,” Tubbo begged, voice cracking.

“Tubbo, Tubbo,” Schlatt whistled. “I’ll cut to the fucking chase, alright?”

“What?” Tubbo asked, backing up into the chair like a cornered animal. “I can’t, I can’t move Schlatt,” he breathed, rattling his wrists.

“It…” Schlatt sighed, shaking his head slowly. “It really sucks for me to say this in front of everybody. I mean, it’s kinda awkward.”

“Can I…can I get out?” Tubbo asked, and Tommy could see the fear in his face even from where he stood. He shrunk, shoulders hunched as he looked up at Quackity and Schlatt, eyes shooting from one to the other.

“Tubbo, I know what you’ve been up to.” Tommy froze, paralysed with fear. He had to do something, had to go help Tubbo. But what could he do, Will was gone, he only had a crappy sword with him. The fuck was he supposed to do?

“What have I been up to?” Tubbo asked, frowning. God, he was such a fucking bad liar. Tommy buried his hair in his hands, needing to hold onto something steady as he watched Schlatt laugh, the sound like a death sentence.

“ _What have I been up to,_ he says. _What have I been up to?”_ Schlatt’s laugh mixed with Quackity’s, both of them rising in volume as Schlatt wiped mock tears from his face.

“I can’t get out,” Tubbo whispered.

“You have been conspiring!” Schlatt accused, voice like an axe as it sliced through the night. “With the idiots, with the tyrants that we kicked out of this great country, months ago.” A chorus of gasps filled the air. “Tubbo, I don’t know if you know this, but treason isn’t exactly a respectable thing around here.”

Tubbo was shaking his head as he shrunk further and further into his face, tears of terror sliding down his face. Tommy gripped onto the wall beside him, bile rising in his throat. Not like this. He wasn’t going to lose Tubbo like this.

“It all adds up, buddy,” Schlatt yelled, spit flying as he waved a finger at Tubbo. “The fucking tunnels, your absence from great events. I mean, you walked off in the middle of this one! You walked off in the middle of this one, Tubbo.” His voice fell from its previous brash scream to a low drawl as he took a step towards the shaking boy.

“Don’t try and tell me you’ve done nothing wrong. Because everyone knows it. I’ve seen it with my own two fucking eyes what you’ve been doing.” He scowled, jaw jutting out with disgust as he shook his head.

Schlatt sighed, hands sliding into his back pockets as he leaned back slightly, cocking his head. “You know what happens to traitors, Tubbo?” he asked slowly, one brow raised.

“No?” Tubbo replied, the word coming out more of a question than an answer as his throat bobbed.

“Nothing good.”

And with that Schlatt turned out to face the audience before he gestured with his head for someone to come up to the stage. Tommy frowned in confusion as he peered out of the window, craning his neck to try and see who it was. But he didn’t need to, because as the sea of taciturn people parted, and a red cloak drifted through, Schlatt spoke.

“Hey, Technoblade. Wanna come up here for a second?” Tommy’s shoulders sagged with relief. This was fine, then. There was no way Technoblade would do anything to harm Tubbo. Techno couldn’t. He just had to figure out a way to get Tubbo out of there before Schlatt caught on.

“Let’s just send a message real quick,” Schlatt said as Techno awkwardly looked around him as he walked up to the podium, looking incredibly uncomfortable in his own skin.

“What’s going on here?” Techno asked, laughing awkwardly as he stood beside Schlatt. No one laughed with him. Quackity stood, watching on with a stupid fucking smirk. And George had disappeared completely, leaving Tubbo alone, Schlatt's eyes baring down at him.

“Tubbo, you are an enemy of the state, and a perpetrator of these awful, awful people.” Tubbo just kept shaking his head, brown hair falling into his face as he trembled. Tommy looked down at his own trembling hands, choking down sick as he told himself it would be fine. Techno wasn’t going to hurt Tubbo, he couldn’t hurt Tubbo.

“We’re running on a bit of a tight schedule, Technoblade,” Schlatt commented, raising his brows as he tapped his feet.

“What do you, uh what do you want from me, Mr President?” What the fuck? Mr fucking President? Tommy took a step away from the window, teeth hitting teeth as he watched on with horror clawing its way up his body.

“Techno, I need you to take him out. Kill him,” he spat, finger pointing at the spot right between Tubbo’s wide eyes. “Kill. Him. Right now.”

A scream sounded from the crowd, and Timmy recognised it as Niki, but he didn’t turn away from the scene unfolding in front of him. No fucking way. This wasn’t happening. No. Tommy ignored the sounds of protest erupting from the crowd, ignored the whispers of Quackity picked up by the mic, suggesting that they don’t do this here. He ignored Niki’s pleas for Technoblade to stop as her voice carried over the hum of fear.

“Right now!” Schlatt screamed when Techno didn’t move. “On this fucking stage. And make it hurt.”

Tommy needed Will to press that button right fucking now. Right now, he needed all this shit to go up in flames. He needed a distraction, a massive fuck off distraction so he could run in there and get Tubbo out. He didn’t care if it destroyed L’Manberg, he needed to get to Tubbo. Tubbo.

“Technoblade.” Was all Schlatt said, nodding satisfised, when Techno slowly tugged the crossbow from over his head. There was an explosive nocked, and Tommy watched as Techno’s pale fingers quivered over the trigger. He was going to kill Schlatt, right? That would work. If he just took out Schlatt, right there, right then.

He willed Techno to do it, begged and prayed and willed it, even as Techno aimed the point at Tubbo’s heart. “Tubbo.” The low monotone voice was carried by the screaming wind, protesting as it pushed against the men on the stage. “Tubbo, I’m sorry, I’ll make it as painless as possible.”

“ _Tubbo_!” Tommy’s scream was covered by the explosion from the stage.

Shouts of terror flooded the air as people scrambled away, terrified for their own safety as they fled. Tommy moved instinctively, kicking in the window and throwing a pearl before he even had time to breathe, to understand what the fuck had just happened. He landed on the stage in a crouch, right in front of his brother. And right in front of Tubbo’s slouched body. Tommy couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Couldn’t tell if Tubbo was alive or dead, couldn’t tell if Techno had gone insane and would try and kill him next, couldn’t see what was happening as the crowd below moved. What the fuck?

“ _Techno! What the fuck_?” Tommy screamed with rage as he found his sword in his hands and found himself slashing at his older friend. He was screaming Tubbo’s name over and over and over again as Techno merely blocked his attacks with his shield, face stony and unmoving, red eyes betraying nothing. He would keep screaming Tubbo's name until his throat bled, until he also died at his brother's hand. But Techno wouldn't attack back. Just kept blocking Tommy, not engaging in the situation. Tommy let out a final frustrated, feral screech before Technoblade finally jumped down from the stage, firing his crossbow into the crowd with a manic laugh.

“Tubbo,” Tommy sobbed as he skidded to his knees, gripping his friend’s limp and bloodied body into his arms. “Please,” he begged, fingers sticky as he cupped Tubbo’s jaw. “Tubbo.” He uttered the name like a prayer as he blinked through tears at his friend’s body. Everything was a mess, he couldn’t tell where he was bleeding from, or where his suit was torn or where his flesh was split. Everything was so fucked, god, everything was fucked up now, and he didn’t even know where Schlatt was or Will. But nothing had blown up yet, and Tommy couldn’t even hear, could speak but say Tubbo’s name over and over and over again, hoping some god heard it over the drone of blood and fear and death.

“Tubbo.”

He wished they’d left together when they’d suggested it. He wished he’d taken Tubbo’s hand in his and fucking ran, not letting the boy object. He should’ve run, they should’ve run.

“Fuck, Tubbo,” Tommy sobbed, breathing painful as he cradled Tubbo to his chest, burying his face in brown hair matted with blood. His fingers grasped his friend’s body, not noticing as a single orange tulip fluttered from Tubbo’s torn pocket.

It was dried and crisp, pale orange wiped with darkening crimson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all the lovely comments and kudos really makes my day!
> 
> forgot that half of Tubbo's speech for democracy was about Manberg being like a lettuce


	17. Where in the Red String

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The art of war teaches us to rely not on the likelihood of the enemy's not coming, but on our own readiness to receive him; not on the chance of his not attacking, but rather on the fact that we have made our position unassailable."
> 
> Wilbur speaks to an old friend.

How the fuck had it gotten to this point?

Will found himself asking that as he bit down a scream. It was gone. It was fucking gone. The button was fucking gone. Someone must’ve found it. Someone had to have found it and destroyed it. Leaving Wilbur with absolutely no back up plan. Panic seized him as he sprinted back to the festival, bones heavy, feeling like he was running through syrup.

It was freezing, the cold air mixing with the foul stench of blood and ash. Will’s feet felt like bricks as he ran, every single bone in his legs smashing over and over again as his boots hit the hard ground. He stumbled as he vaulted over a fence, skidding to a stop when he reached the outskirts of the festival, welcomed with a chorus of screams.

He choked on his breath when he turned a corner, peeking his head out, only to see Tommy sitting on the stage, a limp body in his arms. The blond kid was muttering something, forehead pressed tightly against the other’s, blood painting both of them. There was so much fucking blood. It mixed with tears, as Tommy screamed out on the stage, the sound aching with frustration and wrath and raw, splitting grief.

As Tommy clung to the wilted body in his arms, knuckles white with how tightly he was gripping Tubbo, he didn’t notice Schlatt. Didn’t notice as the man made his way up to the podium, shoving terrified and confused people out of his way. His yellow eyes were fixed on the two boys on the stage. Tommy didn’t notice, but Will did.

And as Schlatt made his way towards Tommy, hand angrily clutching a sword, Will stepped out into the crowd. Hushed gasps followed him, as he slowly weaved his way through the melee. Schlatt thankfully already had his attention caught by something else, looking pissed off as a rageful shout of protest sounded from below the stage, at the front of the crowd.

“God fucking damn it,” Schlatt swore when he realised Tommy had made off with the corpse; all that was left behind a puddle of sticky, red blood, like ink as it dripped through the cracks in the wooden panels.

“How could you?” Will recognised Niki’s yell as she shouted from the horde of people, voice hoarse and dripping in pain. “You killed him!” she accused, a single finger, freshly decorated with scars, pointing at Schlatt. Her face was beautifully wrathful, dark hair tumbling in the wind as she glared. With her damming finger and blazing eyes, she looked like she was cursing Schlatt. Like a fallen god, there to deliver an eternal punishment.

“Yeah?” Schlatt shouted back, lips curled. He had lost his composure, loose tie swaying around his neck. “Yeah, I did. I did fucking kill him, Niki. The hell do you want?” The man sounded more tired than anything, and Will pushed down all the old feelings and memories the sound of his voice cracking brought back up, as he ploughed through the dense crowd. Awkwardly elbowing people out of the way, he kept his head down low.

“How could you do that? After everything he’s done for you!”

“You have been a thorn in my side for my whole goddamn lif… since I assumed this job,” Schlatt corrected himself, and Will could see the scowl on his face in his head as he got closer and closer.

“I do not even want to be here!” Niki was screaming now, voice shrill and powerful as it cut through everything.

“Niki, Niki, sit down please.” Will heard Quackity’s stressed pleas as Schlatt and Niki continued shouting at each other, as if there wasn’t a crowd of confused citizens surrounding them. Will felt fifteen again. Felt small and inconsequential and worthless as annoyed shouts echoed around him.

_“You know what, Niki?” Schlatt was laughing, despite the silent annoyance painting his face. “Suck my cock.”_

_“You’re such an ass!” The fourteen-year-old Niki protested, blonde hair whipping in the wind. They were on the beach, right below their little town perched on the cliffside. Will was sat on the pier, legs swinging as the seas hummed beneath him. The other two were standing behind him, arguing. About what, Will couldn’t even remember. He bet they didn’t either. They just liked to argue._

_“Will, tell her I’m right,” Schlatt called, the soft spring air carrying his words away, and Will watched as they fell onto the skipping waves, floating alongside the mossy seaweed._

_“I’m not telling Niki to suck a cock,” Will sighed, rolling his eyes. He didn’t turn, kept his eyes looking out to the sea, but he felt both of his friends’ eyes baring into his back._

_“He wants to steal from the town,” Niki said, voice deadpan, and Will could hear the frown in her voice. And the grin in Schlatt’s._

_“I want to set up a business, Niki,” he corrected. The wind picked up ever so slightly, felt like someone brushing their thumb across his cheekbone as Will swung his legs. He picked up his guitar from where it lay at his side, balancing it on his lap. “I am so sorry that in order to do so, we may need to step on a few toes.”_

_“You want to scam people! People we live with, people who’ve looked out for us for years.”_

_“I want to make us a profit.” There was a pause as Will quietly strummed, Niki and Schlatt too caught up in their weird staring contest to even notice. “Look, Niki, I’m starting to think you don’t want to be in this enterprise.”_

_“I’ve explicitly told you I don’t.” Came the curt response._

_“Okay, great. Stay out of my business then.”_

_Will wriggled his right wrist as he strummed with his thumb, pushing his yellow sleeve down as the warmth tickled the back of his neck. The air, kissed with salt from the sea, was fresh against his skin, brushing through his hair._

_“I was going to, but then you started trying to drag Will into it and-”_

_A scoff. “Wilbur is of the grand old age of fifteen. Pretty sure he can make decisions for himself.”_

_“Not when you’re constantly-”_

_Will sighed, taking in a loose breath before he started strumming aggressively. Niki and Schlatt had the decency to at least pause their argument, but they went back at it a second later. It wasn’t until Will started singing, voice cracks and all, that they finally shut the fuck up. He smiled as he sang, hair tumbling into his face as he sped up slightly, legs swinging to the beat._

_He glanced up when someone sat on his left. Apologetic grey eyes blinked up at him from thick eyelashes, Niki bumping his knee with her own. He nodded, continuing to play as she tucked a fallen strand of hair behind his ear, fingers aching happily as they brushed the strings._

_Schlatt dropped to the wooden floor with a huff, rolling his eyes and folding his arms at first. But Will kept playing, words falling from his mouth effortlessly, and Schlatt loosened up, face relaxing as he bent back, leaning up on his elbows as he watched the sky. He blew dark hair out of his face, content in the moment as Will played._

_He’d written the song a while ago. It wasn’t his best work, and he certainly wasn’t that happy with the way his voice was wavering awkwardly, but it sounded better than it ever had. Felt better playing it than he ever had. He sang the story of a mythical king. One who slayed a monster with horns, sharp as thorns, who saved stolen goddesses and united kingdoms. A king who was thrown from a cliff, the breath pocketed from his throat by the sea. He sang of Theseus until his fingers ached, until his words run out, his song over._

_Three teenagers sat at the edge of the pier of their seaside town, at the edge of the continent, at the edge of their world, shoulders knocking together. Three woollen sweaters; blue, yellow and white, all neatly lined up. Three secretive smiles as the one in the middle continued absently strumming against his guitar._

“No, you know what? Fuck her, I don’t…I’m done with her, you can leave if you want. If you want out of this fucking country, you can have it.”

Schlatt clamped his mouth shut when Will finally pushed past the crowd, stumbling into the clearing where Niki stood. His eyes widened before he snarled, Quackity instantly stepping forward, slightly in front of the older man. To protect Schlatt from him, or from the citizens from Schlatt, Will didn’t really know.

This was the first time he’d seen Schlatt in months, almost half a year. Since he’d exiled him from his own country. Tension hung between them, as his old friend looked down at him, eyes twitching slightly. Unsaid words, fractured friendships, strain tightening and tightening. Water rising and rising.

_“Give me your hand, asshole,” Will snarled, dangling his own slippery hand out for Schlatt to grab. The other boy frowned; brows furrowed as he spat water out of his mouth. They were both absolutely fucking drenched, and Will was trying to not think about how worried he should probably be that his teeth was chattering so painfully._

_He was also ignoring the shaky way Schlatt was breathing as he bobbed up and down in the water, as if taking breaths was painful. Will’s thoughts were all muddled as the water continued to climb, his brain full of cotton. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. Schlatt still hadn’t taken his hand, awkwardly trying to pull himself up to the rocky ledge Will was perched on._

_“Give me your fucking hand,” he demanded again, going down onto his knees so he had better range to grab Schlatt. This whole thing had been a stupid fucking idea, mining this far from home, just the two of them. God, Phil was going to have his neck. If he ever made it home._

_“Just go,” Schlatt snarled, turning his head to check behind him. Will followed his gaze to see the water slowly rising higher and higher, rushing in from the cave behind them. The entrance they’d taken, the path they’d carved out, had collapsed, leaving them in this tight grotto. And then Schlatt’s pick had smashed into the rock, only for water to come streaming out._

_Will bit his lip before he glanced up at the tight crack in the rocky ceiling leading up to the surface. Strains of light filtered in. Would they even make it in time? If they left right now, if Will just stood up and used his pick to pull himself up, he could probably squeeze through._

_God, he was going to die at the grand old age of sixteen. Unless he moved right now, unless he dropped his bag, and just leapt up. If he just left Schlatt._

_The other boy was struggling, water now up to his chin. He barely had his head above the water, eyes screwed up in frustration and restrained fear. Will shrugged his backpack off, ignoring the amount of fucking iron in it when it tumbled into the water. Schlatt’s eyes snapped open when the bag splashed him, water dripping down his face._

_“What the fu-” Before he could finish that sentence, Will was grabbing onto Schlatt’s collar with one hand, and the boy’s arm with the other. And he was hauling Schlatt up onto the ledge with him, the other boy completely dripping wet, hair flat and dark against his head._

_“We need to move quickly,” Will said, and Schlatt just nodded, usual snarky self, silent. Will shoved his spare pick into Schlatt’s hand and gestured for him to follow before he jumped up, metal smashing into rock as his legs dangled in the air. And then they climbed._

_Will could feel the water sloshing at their feet as they desperately hauled themselves up the narrow crack, the sunlight from above piercing their eyes. Schlatt got up first, and Will felt two hands bend down and wrap themselves around his waist before he was being tugged out of the cave and into the crisp fresh air. He coughed as he rolled onto the ground, dropping onto his back. Schlatt followed, and the two of them watched the clouds pass by, the only sound their heavy panting._

_And then hysterical laughing when they shared a look, Will clutching onto his gut as his face hurt._

_Phil did shout when him and Schlatt turned up on their doorstep drenched - clothes ruined, as well as acting like a second skin, and missing all the tools and materials they had left with, including Techno’s third favourite sword and Phil’s best pickaxe - but he only shouted for a couple of minutes._

_And then he sighed, pushing his tongue into his cheek before he handed them warm clothes and demanded they sit in front of the fire until they stopped shaking._

_Techno appeared an hours later, finding Schlatt and Will asleep on top of each other, snoring softly, as their still slightly damp hair curled at the back of their necks. He rolled his eyes, muttering nerds under his breath as he chucked a blanket over the two sixteen-year olds._

_(He wouldn’t find out about the missing sword until a couple of days later, which resulted in Will locking himself in the bathroom in fear of a wrathful brother. But Schlatt and him went out mining the next week, and found enough gold to buy Techno a new sword – Schlatt debated it was better than the one they’d lost. Neither of them came close to drowning that time.)_

“Hello Schlatt,” Will said, tilting his head up once in acknowledgement. Gone was the teenager with the pale blue sweater, and the small round horns sticking up with tufts of brown hair. An enemy stood in front of him now, a man who had just ordered the execution of a teenager, whose smile was like that of a snake. How had it come to this? How had they gotten here? To this point, to the point that Will was unsure whether or not Schlatt might kill him where he stood. Maybe it would be a mercy, to die to the hand of an old friend. He wondered if Schlatt would miss him, if Schlatt already missed him.

“You actually murdered Tubbo.” The words came out easier than he thought they would.

“Yeah,” Schlatt nodded, brown hair moving in the wind. “You actually let him do that. You know Wilbur, I took you as a shitty leader, but you know I didn’t think you’d aid and abet Tubbo in this two-faced betrayal. I mean, it’s kind of uncool. I’m pretty upset. Tubbo was a good friend of mine, I mean, he put together this whole thing and uh…to know what he’s been doing, behind my back, the whole time.”

“Just, if you’re gonna kill anyone else here, kill me.” He didn’t realise how much weight the words held until he said them. Didn’t realise how much truth, and silent desire, they held either.

Techno appeared at his side, materialising from only gods nowhere. His crossbow was strapped across his back again, but he was twirling a sword in his hand, wrist rolling. His hair was hanging in a loose ponytail, blood splattered elegantly across his face. Will refused to look up at him. He could deal with that whole situation after he dealt with the issue at hand.

“Yeah, yeah, Wilbur,” Schlatt sighed, dismissively waving his hand. “I mean, I’ve had enough out of your mouth. I’m not going to kill anyone else. Do I look like a bad guy to you?”

Wilbur didn’t open his mouth. He just lowered his brows and shot Schlatt a levelled look. The man just scowled, looking slightly more deranged than normal.

“I was going to say we could just continue our festivities,” Schlatt shrugged, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets. He dropped down into the seat Tubbo had died on, blood coating his legs. It splashed up, staining the black fabric. And as Schlatt dropped his hand onto the armrest, his fingers practically drowned in the blood that pooled there. He didn’t even flinch.

Neither did Wilbur.

“But I guess if your stomachs feeling a little woozy after Tubbo, well, you can just get lost.” Will frowned, trying to figure out what Schlatt’s plan was here. He didn’t speak, trying to subtly edge himself in front of Niki. Her dungarees were ripped, the yellow sweater she was wearing hanging off her shoulder haphazardly. She didn’t look scared, to her credit. She looked fucking pissed.

“I mean, holy shit Wilbur,” Schlatt continued, smiling softly when Will’s head snapped up to meet his again. And the smile was almost enough to convince Will that they were kids again, that they would be fine, that they would all be fine in the end, and that this was just a stupid little game. Or that they were eighteen again, and they were high, imagining a world where they were leaders; presidents or dictators. It didn't matter which, because they were just stoned out of their goddamned minds on the roof, giggling up at the dark sky.

That none of this was really real.

Almost.

“You really just, crawled up here, on the day of my festival, celebrating my country. That you are not a part of.”

“You sounded like you were going to kill another person,” Will said, voice stronger now. He forgot how easy it was to slip back into the role of president, like shouldering on his old L’Manberg coat, even though he no longer had a country. Because it was gone. Even if the land was still there, even as Will stood on the ground which had once been theirs, it wasn’t the same anymore. It wasn’t the special place it had been before. Which was what no one else seemed to understand.

Tommy thought they could reclaim it, but he didn’t realise there was nothing left to reclaim. It would be impossible to build L’Manberg back to what it once was, he couldn’t undo what had happened. Couldn’t undo all the betrayal and weight and fear of the past six months. And yet Tommy, Techno, Niki, they all seemed to think he could. They all seemed to think he had a magic fucking answer to everything.

He only had one answer to this. Blow the whole fucking thing to the ground.

Because L’Manberg now was just a dying corpse, grasping and heaving for breath. They couldn’t bring it back to life, couldn’t save it. They needed to put it out of its misery.

And only Will seemed to realise that.

Which was okay, because only he had to realise it. Only one of them needed to understand they needed to kill it. Only one of them had to push the button.

Will glanced to his side, heart heavy, to find Niki beside him. She was close enough to touch. If he reached out, his skin would brush against hers. She looked different. Not in a bad way, never in a bad way. But the softness she’d breathed before, the kindness she’d handed out like it cost nothing, had been rubbed of its plush. She stood, solid and unyielding, like someone had taken a chisel to her marble skin and chipped away the soft girl, revealing the hardened woman.

“Sounded like you were going to go for Niki,” Will finished, glancing back up at Schlatt, who shrugged.

“No, I was only going to murder Tubbo.” He paused, yellow eyes sliding onto Niki, scanning her up and down slowly before he nodded. “Well, I mean, Niki, yeah. Yeah, you know what? I might murder Niki. I might murder her,” he repeated, pushing himself up out of the chair with a clap. His palms were stained red. “Tubbo can I, oh fuck…” he trailed off with a grin rippling its way across his face. He latched onto Will’s eyes. “I murdered him. And now I don’t have any arrows.”

Will moved as Quackity handed a bundle of arrows to Schlatt, grabbing Niki’s hand in his. They moved too quickly for anyone to catch them, staying close together, fingers laced together, arms pressed together, as they weaved through the crowds. Will was pretty sure Techno was following them, could hear the familiar hum of his sword falling. He just focused on tugging her along, only stopping once he was sure they’d made it out of the populated area.

He didn’t even know why he was helping her. He knew she wasn’t on his side, none of them were. They weren’t a family anymore, they were broken, spread across the land like ash from a smoking fire. But something in Will screamed as Niki was put in danger, by their old friend no less. Something needled at him, scraped against the underside of his bones, something demanded he get her away right now. And who was he to deny that?

“Niki! Niki, just run, run now,” he said once he was sure they’d made it out of the populated area, gripping his friend’s shoulders tightly. Glancing nervously around them, Will’s fingers only stopped shaking when he felt a cool hand on his cheek. Grey eyes met his when he turned to face her. He could feel the fresh scars on her fingers pressing into his cheek.

She didn’t speak, just pushed herself onto her toes before pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Will’s eyes fluttered shut, and once they finally opened again, Niki was gone, the lack of her skin against his sending ice running through his blood.

“Alright, here we go,” he muttered to himself as Techno rounded the corner, bounding over to him with a smirk on his face. He was trailed by a number of heavily armed guards, all of them wielding gleaming weapons. Will quickly scrambled with his own sword as one of the men brought an axe down towards him. He winced under the weight of it before he managed to push the man away from him, decking him into the ground.

“You’re so bad at this,” Techno laughed, head thrown back in amusement even as he took on three men on his own.

“Shut the fuck up Technoblade,” Will hissed, running forward and grabbing onto Techno’s wrist when even more soldiers came round the corner, shouting and pointing when they noticed the two exiles. As they ran, the guards on their heels, Techno started tugging Will to the left, ignoring his brother’s shouts of protest.

“It's this way, idiot,” Will shouted, annoyance lacing his voice as Techno dragged him further and further away. He bit his tongue when Techno dropped his arm, shooting Will a smug look once he noticed the horse tied up to a tree. “Shut up,” Will snarled before Techno clambered up onto the horse, kicking its haunches before he effortlessly pulled Will up with him.

“Didn’t say anything,” Techno pointed out, and then they were off, the horse’s hooves hitting the crisp ground with sharp thuds. Will held onto Techno so he didn’t fall off, only now realising just how much blood was covering the other man. Will bit down bile.

One voice echoed as they rode back to their caves, Techno’s horse’s breathing heavy and ragged against the still air. Will screwed his eyes shut as he tightened his hold on his brother, desperately trying to shove out Schlatt’s cries of anguish.

“My festival’s fallen apart.”

The words, even though they came from a speaker far away, whispered in Will’s ear. He couldn’t help but hear the lapping of water, craving his breath, and the saturated sound of strumming as Schlatt’s voice played on repeat in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah ok so idk why but this is one of my favourite chapters I've ever written so I hope you guys enjoy :D
> 
> edit: 500 kudos POGGGGGG


	18. I Think This Time I'm Dying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Confront them with annihilation, and they will then survive; plunge them into a deadly situation, and they will then live."
> 
> The pit.

Tommy was emotional, erratic. He knew this. His feelings got the better of him again and again, unable to douse the burning coals that screamed in his gut. He knew this. It was instinctive, to reach out for a weapon, to lash out, to scream, to stab shit.

But as Tommy ran through the forest, feet pounding and limp hissing in protest, one thing drowned out the anger that was rippling through his entire body.

Each shaky breath that shuddered from Tubbo’s lips was another tick in the clock.

Tick. Breath. Step. Tick. Breath, step. Tick, breath, step. Tickbreathsteptickbreathsteptick.

Tommy ran, and Tommy ran faster than he ever had. Ran faster than he ever had before Dream had permanently fucked up his leg. Tommy ran, trying to keep Tubbo’s slipping body as still in his arms as he could. Tommy ran, wishing more than anything that he could give up his own ragged breathing for dying brother. Tommy ran, tearing through the forest, as if he breathed raw vitality, as if the constraints of bone and sinew didn’t apply to him.

And as he tightened his hold on his friend, his brother, the weight too light in his arms, it wasn’t unplausible that Tommy wasn’t defying the laws of gravity. That some god hadn’t heard his beseeching cries and had taken pity on the two boys.

As Tommy seemed to dodge every unearthed root with impeccable clarity, he felt the smallest spark of hope in his soul.

This flickered when they finally reached Pogtopia, and Tommy lay Tubbo on the bed in the main cavern, throwing the orange blankets from the bed before he dropped his friend onto the mattress with a heart-breaking tenderness. That was when Tommy realised, he had no fucking idea what he was doing.

He was blinded by bleeding lesions and torn flesh. How did anyone have this much fucking blood? Tommy bit down bile as he jerked the ruins of Tubbo’s shirt over the boy’s head, a slab of lashed meat looking back up at him. It seemed like all of the blood that had once flown thick and scarlet in Tubbo’s veins was clasped in Tommy’s fingers. A dried patch of brown had wicked into the hem of Tommy’s shirt. How the fuck was there so much, why was there so much? Why was it drying already, and how had Tubbo not stopped fucking bleeding?

He tugged the green fabric off of his wrist and tied it tightly around the main wound that stretched across Tubbo’s torso. Then he grabbed as many healing potions as he could from the chest, glass bottles in his arms as he glanced over his shoulder to look at his friend. Tubbo was alive, he was breathing, but barely. How much time did he even have to save him?

Could he save him? Fucking hell, he better be able to save him. The fuck would be the point if he couldn’t save Tubbo? Tubbo was…Tubbo was Tubbo, for fucks sake. Tubbo was the one who lived. Out of all of them. Out of the fucked-up group of legendary warlords and psychopaths and stupid fucking children who had no clue what the hell they were doing, Tubbo’s light shone the brightest. Tubbo was the one who had to make it.

Tommy would find his way into fucking hell to bring back his friend. Tubbo was the one who made it. Tubbo, generous, thoughtful, forgiving Tubbo was the one who made it. He was the one who stood against the rest of their flaws, the one with the real heart, the real soul. Tubbo needed to make it. Tubbo was going to make it. 

The pool of blood the boy lay in had already started congealing as Tommy tentatively tilted Tubbo’s chin up, red fingerprints glaring back up at him. He poured the potion down his throat, one hand on the glass bottle, the other softly raking through matted brown hair.

“Alright, Tubbo,” Tommy said after he’d poured down four potions. “I’m gonna fix you up, okay man? I’m going to help, and everything’s going to be alright.”

He spoke as he scrambled to find a needle and thread, pushing down the horror of it all. He tried to thread the needle, but his hands were slick with blood, and he couldn’t get it through the eye. He didn’t even realise tears were streaming down his face until one landed on his shaking wrist, as he desperately tried to shove the yarn through the needle. “Fuck, Tubbo. I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry for letting you stay with Schlatt. I should’ve saved you, could’ve saved you and brought you back here with me. I’m so fucking sorry, man. I wanted to run away with you, you know? I really, really wanted to. If you just wake up, Tubbo, I promise I’ll go with you. I fucking swear on it, Tubbo.”

He roughly blinked away the tears, his whole hand clutching the needle. This wasn’t real, it was another nightmare. One so vivid he could smell the metallic scent filling the air, could see the flesh split and torn all ragged, flaps of skin and pools of drying blood. His vision started dotting, and Tommy screwed his eyes shut. Everything threatened to collapse in on him.

A sort of pained, wavering groan escaped his lips as he gripped his temples, swaying on his feet. Fuck. Everything was so fucked, and the smell of blood was dripping all over Tommy, coating his skin and bathing his freckles in brass red. His head was spinning, literally feeling like the brain inside of his skull was tilting, and Tommy wouldn’t have been surprised if his head had just torn from his neck, dropping to the ground with a crack, his own blood spilling, dripping through the cracks in the ground, red decorating cleft grey.

Tommy spiralled, not even noticing when the needle clenched in his fist pierced skin. He didn’t notice anything, too trapped in his own splintering mind, reality crashing down painfully around him, fragmenting and cracking on the hard ground all around him. But then a soft sound coming from behind him rang around his mind. Slightly gargled and wet, as if choking on the blood clogging his throat. _Tubbo_.

Tommy’s eyes snapped open as he looked over his friend. Tubbo’s eyes were still shut, unconscious from the sheer amounts of pain, but his lips were parted, soft sounds of pain emitting from his mouth.

Thread passed through the eye of the needle. Tommy pressed one hand on Tubbo’s chest, staring down at the gaping wound across his chest. Fingers shaking terribly, Tommy held his breath. He resisted the urge to shut his eyes, and instead pushed the needle through skin. Tubbo flinched in his state, and Tommy had to physically gulp down sick that threatened to spill out. He shook his head, trying desperately to shake out the horrible, cruel whispering thoughts infecting his mind. He just wanted to cry. He just wanted Tubbo back, wanted him awake and safe. Didn’t want to be sewing his best friend up like he was a fraying tear in a shirt.

He gripped his own wrist before he went to push the needle through again, ignoring the way Tubbo’s nose crinkled, lips twisting in agony even in sleep.

“Tommy!”

The needle fell to the ground. Tommy let out a choked sob before he dove to the ground, scrambling around the find it. The loose thread had fallen with the needle, Tubbo’s wound opening up again. “Tommy, I’ve been calling your name since I…” He looked up to find Niki standing over the bed, face bleached of colour. “Tubbo,” she breathed, grey eyes wide with horror.

“I don’t-I don’t know what to do,” Tommy said, words tumbling out, unable to stop them, to reign it in. “He’s dying, Niki, and I’m pretty sure he needs stitches, but I don’t-”

“I need bottles of water and alcohol.” When he didn’t move from his spot on the ground, watching as Niki untied the green bandana from Tubbo’s chest, glued to skin with blood, she snapped her head to him. Gone was the horror and shock, replaced with stoic grit. “Now, Tommy!” she yelled. He was on his feet in an instant, his head now only slightly swimming.

“Never try and suture a wound if you don’t know how,” she said, voice stern with warning as Tommy returned with his arms tense under the weight of the bottles of water and alcohol. He blinked down at the ground, half because he couldn’t bear to look at his friend on the bed, and also because of the shame that burned across his face. He nodded, even though Niki couldn’t see him, eyes trained on Tubbo’s faltering chest.

He watched as she doused the needle in alcohol, leaning closer to the wound before she gritted her teeth. The needle passed through skin smoothly this time, and Tommy couldn’t help but watch in awe as Niki’s fingers moved quickly, but carefully, tying and sewing up so fast Tommy couldn’t follow along. She tied each nub quickly, and after what seemed like less than a minute, but could’ve easily been hours, Tubbo was lying on the bed, one whole boy again. Thirteen neat, little knots ran up the wound, like thirteen neat, little soldiers, all perfectly lined up, waiting for the first shot to be fired.

“Do you have any cloth? And honey?” Tommy looked up to meet weary grey eyes, like smoke under glass. He nodded, moving wordlessly as he found a clean cloth, dampening it in one of the buckets of fresh water. The honey was under the bed, in a little jar tied up with brown string. Tubbo had given it to Tommy a couple of months ago, one of the last jars of honey from the Spring.

“How long has it been?” Tommy asked as Niki cleaned up Tubbo, the blood staining her own fingers mixing with the water, dripping its way down Tubbo’s side like saturated watercolour. His scars from the last war lay across his skin proudly.

“Five hours,” came the ginger reply, but Tommy only tilted his head up in response, too busy checking over the cataleptic boy on the mattress. His eyes drifted down to the indented pockmark that adorned the place above the boy’s right collarbone. The harsh purple scarring was a painful contrast to the milky skin it cut through, and Tommy snapped his gaze away when the image of the last time Tubbo had almost fucking died crawled its way into his head.

 _His friend, stumbling out of the portal, frail and falling. Uniform licked in red, as an arrowhead stuck out of the boy’s skin, metal glinting cruelly in the sunlight. The tip of the bolt pointing right at Tommy as he watched his friend’s knees buckled, body caving in weakly._

_Tubbo’s hands cupping his face, slick and sticky with brilliant crimson. Breathing like a rattle, painful to hear as his friend choked on his own blood. Tommy carrying Tubbo, one arm under his knocking legs, another around his back, streaked with red. Tubbo’s limp head sagging into his chest, hair damp with sweat._

_Placing Tubbo on another bed, a different bed, a safer bed, watching blindly as Will tore the shirt off of the boy, swearing colourfully under his breath at the splintering arrow glaring up at all three of them. Tubbo wailing, sobs grating as he writhed on the table, confused and terrified as the pain threatened to tug on his consciousness. Tommy brushing his knuckles against his friend’s cheek, wiping the tears away before brown eyes rolled back into his head._

He blinked when he felt a hand grasp his. Niki was guiding his hand down towards Tubbo’s left arm, voice sounding underwater as she ordered him to spread the honey over his burns, to avoid infection. He hummed in response, lightly painting over the angry flushed burns in a thin layer of honey. Time ticked by as Tommy sat there, running a finger coated in honey up and down. Niki had left at some point, presumably to clean up the bloodied bottles and equipment.

Tommy finished with the burn on Tubbo’s neck and started scrubbing his hands clean. He thought that maybe the honey would’ve masked the foul smell of drying blood, but the sickly sweetness just made it worse, the smell unavoidable as it stained the air. Tommy’s nose crinkled as he tried to breathe through his mouth. But somehow the smell got stuck on his tongue, saccharine death clinging to his skin, his nose, his teeth.

The metal bucket was cool against his burning fingers and Tommy’s eyes fluttered shut, a fleeting moment of calmness washing over him. And then he heard them.

He heard the rattling of the armour, the thudding of boots against rock, the sharp whispers he recognised so painfully before he saw them. Will appeared first, eyes slightly crazed, fingers twitching as he stormed towards Tommy. His long trench coat was fucked, the ends completely singed. He didn’t look hurt, no visible signs of injury. Tommy heart slipped when he realised that was what his mind first went to. If his friend was hurt, if Will was alright. Even as his friend jabbed a finger at him, brown eyes feral.

“Did you destroy a button?” Will demanded. Tommy almost flinched away, almost cowered, foot moving to take a step back. But before his boot fell, Techno rounded the corner, red eyes narrowed. A singular swipe of blood decorated his face, a single, solidary line of crimson bit against his skin. Tommy bit down on his lip so suddenly, and so sharply, that a slice of pain flickered before blood dripped into his mouth. Whatever, he already couldn’t breathe without the bloodied, heavy air impaling him.

“The fuck are you doing?” Tommy yelled, glaring right at Techno. The older man just looked back at him blankly, arms folded as he leaned against the wall. He didn’t respond, but his eyes flicked from Tommy to Will, who had decided to shake the boy that had just almost died, who still might die.

“Was it him?” Will was shouting, voice thin and frazzled. “Did you destroy a button?” He bellowed at the unconscious body, shaking Tubbo by the shoulders. The boy’s head fell to the side,

Tommy moved instantly, shoving Will away. The older man stumbled back, face a cast of shock as Tommy stood in front of Tubbo, fists raised in warning. He shook his head, ignoring the way his jaw trembled. Ignored the way his stomach clenched excruciatingly. Ignored the way Will looked at him, like he couldn’t quite remember who Tommy was, who his little brother was.

He wouldn’t let them hurt Tubbo. “Get the fuck away from him,” Tommy cried out, the idea of anyone he didn’t trust completely even fucking touch Tubbo sent his nerves sparking. And he hated that he couldn’t trust the two men in front of him. He wanted to, wanted to so badly it hurt him, wanted to so badly that his mind was fraying, unable to keep him rooted in reality. It was killing him, knowing he couldn’t trust them. But he knew. Knew he couldn’t. They’d fallen in too deep.

Silence collapsed over them, the three of them standing stiffly, but ready. The three brothers could feel the tension in the air, the three of them ready to snap at any point, the string that tied the three of them together getting painfully tighter and tighter with each passing moment. 

Techno’s fingers stilled on the hilt of his sword. Will’s tongue licked over his teeth. Tommy’s shaking fists stayed raised. Knuckles white and chapped.

“We don’t know about any button,” Tommy finally whispered, eyes shifting from the two older men as he backed up, closer and closer to Tubbo.

“I couldn’t find the room,” Will started, laughing shrilly as he raked two hands through his hair. “I couldn’t find the room. I built a room, and it was linked with redstone, it was hidden, and I couldn’t-”

As Will ranted, teeth hitting against each other after every pause, Tommy let his words fade into nothing. He just watched Technoblade, who looked as calm and collected as he always did. He didn’t look remotely guilty, or remorseful. The crossbow he’d used to do it was still strapped across his fucking back. He hadn’t even looked at Tubbo.

“Why the fuck did you try to murder Tubbo?” Tommy suddenly said, cutting Will off. The brown-haired man just shook his head in annoyance, left eye twitching slightly. “Are you insane?” he demanded, voice dripping in contempt as Techno nodded, more in acknowledgment than anything else.

“I did what I had to-”

“You were supposed to be on our side!” Tommy accused, hating that his voice broke. He sounded like a fucking kid, screaming and stamping his feet because he wasn’t getting dessert. And Will was looking at him like he was a kid, and that made Tommy’s teeth grit. Was he fucking insane? Had Techno not shot a chained up Tubbo, tried to shoot him dead, right in front of them all? Had everyone fucking missed it apart from Tommy?

“I am on your side,” Techno objected, and it was the first time something like serious emotion flashed over his face, brows furrowing as he took a step forward. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t jeopardise myself!” He stumbled over his words, dry voice lurching for the first time Tommy could remember.

“You tried to shoot Tubbo to death, at the president’s command!” he snarled, lips curling as he stood in front of Techno, three inches shorter, and miles away. Jutting his chin out definitely, he narrowed his eyes, and silently begged for Techno to hit him. Because then he could punch the fucker back, punch him and show him. Show him how much he’d hurt Tubbo, how his lies had hurt Tommy, how he couldn’t just saunter into their lives like this, pretending to want to help them, pretending he was here for Tommy, fighting alongside him when really, he just wanted to-

A growl ripped from Tommy’s mouth when Will placed a hand on his head. He soothingly ran his hands over Tommy’s grim, dirty hair even as the younger boy tried to back away. Like he was a crazed, sick dog, and Will was the reasonable, logical master, trying to pacify the poor animal.

“Tommy.” The words sounded wrong on his tongue. “Tommy, this is magnificent. Do you know why this is magnificent?”

“Why.” Tommy deadpanned, roughly shoving Will’s hand off of him before he backed up, arms tightly folded in front of himself.

“Because it’s-I…” Will laughed as he stumbled over his words, giving a snort of amusement before he threw his arms out, as if addressing a crowd of people. If Tommy squinted, he didn’t see Will. He saw a man with horns curling at the side of his head, collar loose and tie hanging around his neck like a permanent noose.

“It’s exactly like I said. No one’s on our side, Tommy. Everyone’s just listening to who’s got the most power. No one cares, no one has any honour here, everyone’s just doing whatever the fuck it is they want.”

“That is not true, I’m here to dismantle the-”

“Oh, shut up, Technoblade. You’re in on it as well,” Will sighed bitterly, sounding genuinely pissed off at his brother for a moment. He looked over his shoulder to stare at Techno who decidedly bit his lip shut, even if he rolls his red eyes like he doesn’t care. Tommy always thought it was Techno, who had the slight superiority in their relationship. When he first met Techno, when Will brought him to the house that had once been his home; Will had laughed at every joke the pink haired man had made, had watched him with such devotion and admiration in his face, had seemed as if he could speak to Techno without every getting bored, without ever deciding he didn’t want, or need, his brother anymore.

But as Will turned back to Tommy, Techno shrinking against the rocky wall, ears flat against his head, he started to think it might be the other way around.

“This isn’t about _us_ ; this is about destroying Manberg. Tommy, what else do I have to say? The festival was a front.” Halfway through Will’s voice dropped, changing from the usual excitable laugh to that dark voice. It was the voice Tommy heard in the nightmares he wasn’t sure were nightmares, the voice that whispered in his ear whenever he saw red, reaching for a weapon.

“Where’s the button?” Tommy asked.

“I told you, round the back of the hill,” Will groaned, face screwing up in annoyance. Like Tommy was focusing on all the wrong things. Like the button connecting the abundance of explosives under the city wasn’t the main issue at hand here. “I just couldn’t find it.” Will trailed off, lips parting in surprise for a moment before he smiled softly. Will followed his eyes to find Niki standing on the stairs, watching the three of them with caution. “Niki are you joining Pogtopia?” Will asked, but before she could answer, he spoke again, shrugging casually. “Let’s have everyone join!”

“No, why would we do that?” Tommy frowned, screwing his face up as Niki carefully walked up beside Will. Grey eyes flicked him up and down, widening as if something had just hit her. But Will didn’t even notice, didn’t acknowledge her as he raised his brows at Tommy. A woman in blue dungarees decorated with blood cowering in the shadows and a boy in mismatched clothes that didn’t feel right, standing in the light of his brother’s stare.

“For fucks sake, Tommy. Because no one cares! Everyone’s going to betray us, anyway, might as well let them live in the fucking caves with us. Technoblade, why are you here? Are you here for chaos?”

Techno shifted awkwardly, cocking his head at Will. “Well, yeah, but I-"

“Well, there you go,” Will interrupted him with a smirk.

“I’ve been upfront about the anarchy from the start,” Techno frowned, cutting himself off when Will threw a long, bruised and battered arm around his shoulders, tugging the shorter man towards him.

“Look, Tommy,” Will started, face easy and warm again. Tommy was getting whiplash from Will’s mood swings. “You can choose to not forgive Technoblade all you want, but I’m telling you now, he knows what he’s doing.” Techno blinked up at Will, even his red eyes were painted in shock as Niki balked slightly. Tommy just about lost it.

“Yeah, I don’t, he wanted to fucking murder Tubbo,” he accused, nostrils flaring.

“Well, to be fair,” Techno started, kicking up loose gravel with his boot.

“There is no fair. There is no _fair_ , you just tried to kill him!” Tommy’s throat hurt. Everything hurt.

A choked laugh drew everyone’s eyes to Will, who was holding onto his gut with one hand, the other still around Technoblade’s broad shoulders.

“Why are you laughing?” Niki breathed, voice weighty, as if she already knew the answer. They all knew the answer.

Will replied anyway, shaking his head in amusement. “Because its exactly as I predicted! _Exactly_. It’s all a travesty. I…I tell you what,” Will said, seriousness taking over his composure for a moment. “I won’t blow it up, Tommy.” He said it like he was doing Tommy a massive favour, as if he had to go out of his way to not cause mass destruction, to not kill hundreds of people. “Not tonight.”

“Wait,” Niki froze, brows knitting together. “You-you _what_?”

“Oh, yeah. Niki you missed this part, I was gonna blow up Manberg,” he shrugged before he wrapped his free arm around her, bringing her and Techno into one awkward, horrible, stiff group hug. “Big huge fireball,” he sang, dropping his chin onto Techno’s head. If Tommy wanted to, if he really wanted to, he could pretend that Will hadn’t gone fucking insane. That Techno hadn’t tried to murder Tubbo five hours ago. That this wasn’t a hug full of pain and resistance, but of genuine belonging. That this was all alright, that everything was going to be okay.

Tommy stopped trying to tell himself that. Everything wasn’t going to be okay. Not until he fixed everything.

“Oh, look at us,” Will laughed wistfully as Niki’s eyes flicked up to meet Tommy’s. He tried to shake his head, to convey anything of meaning to her, to the person who’d saved his best friend’s life, but his neck was taunt, and his muscles unable to move.

“The whole gang's here.” Will smiled until his eyes dropped onto Tommy, still standing in front of Tubbo. Then his eyes flickered with something Tommy didn’t recognise, arms falling from Niki and Techno.

“Watch out Techno,” he laughed cruelly. Sadist amusement crashed in brown eyes. “Tommy’s angry,” he whistled. “He’s angry at you. Look he’s pissed at you. Little boy’s angry.” Techno didn’t join in Will’s laughter, just held Tommy’s gaze uncomfortably. “Go on Tommy, say something.”

His nails dug into his palms.

“I don’t know if this is…” he heard Niki speaking, but she sounded far away. Everything felt far away, like he wasn’t really there. Like he wasn’t meant to be there and could only hear everything through a warped glass permanently held up to his ear. The glass shattered; ears flooded with blood.

“Why’d you kill him Techno?”

Even his own voice sounded far away.

“If I didn’t, he would’ve killed us.”

“You tried to kill Tubbo! He is one of _us._ ”

“No.” Techno’s voice cut through Tommy, skin splicing open. He recognised the genuine anger in Techno’s face now, the clenched jaw and tense shoulders. “I am here to protect you and Wilbur, alright?” He said it begrudgingly, like he wanted nothing more than to leave the two of them there alone to the wolves. To scurry back to Phil, their placement father figure. The figure they had all latched onto because all three of them were too fucked up to make any meaningful connections with real blood, with real family. They weren’t really brothers. Weren’t really family. They were just people, with one very thin, unravelling string wrapped around their wrists, chaining them together.

“I don’t want you to protect me,” Tommy spat. “Not if this is how you do it.”

“Tommy, there were like twenty guys there who would’ve jumped me if I hadn’t. Look Tubbo’s fine, he’s alive,” he tried, pointing towards the boy on the bed. The boy who’s breathing was so shallow Tommy couldn’t hear it. And Tommy could always hear Tubbo’s breathing. When he had a cold and had to breathe through his mouth, even though he got all insecure about it because he thought it was too loud and would piss people off. When he was laughing and his breathing would turn to a wheeze, clutching his gut as he struggled to catch onto breath. When they would swim, and Tubbo would press his lips together tightly before he dove down, trying to see how long he could keep his breath for.

When he was asleep, and his chest would rise and fall in beat. When he’d murmur sometimes, head shoved into a pillow like he was _trying_ to fucking suffocate himself in his sleep. When his breathing hitched when Tommy lugged him up the stairs after he fell asleep on the couch again.

“You fucked up man. You’re not even Pogtopia anymore, you’re just another fucking Schlatt.”

“I’m an anarchist,” Techno argued, seemingly personally offended. Good. Selfish fuck.

“You’re not an anarchist! You bended to the President, to _democracy_.” The two of them had somehow found themselves standing very close together, noses almost touching. Tommy held back the urge to punch him, to cave his stupid fucking face in. The prick deserved it.

“I don’t know about you, Tommy but I forgive Techno. In a heartbeat.” Tommy and Techno both whipped their heads around to face Will, both equally shocked and slightly confused. One sagging in relief, the other pushing down a strangled stream of protest.

“I do not forgive him, what the hell? He tried to kill Tubbo!” How many fucking times did he have to say that before Will got it through his thick fucking skull?

“What do you wanna do about it?” Tommy blinked, anger dissolving for a split second as his head tilted to the side. What he wanted to do about it? As if this was an issue that could be resolved by speaking, by sitting around a table and coming up with a solution.

“I want him to get the hell out of here,” he finally said, shoving Techno back. That took the man by surprise, because he stumbled on his feet, tusks bared as he glowered.

“You think you can destroy Manberg without my help, Tommy?” he snarled, eyes narrowing. Tommy ignored the fact that he was right. Ignored the fact that he was nothing without Will and Techno, was nothing without the men who had taken him under their wings. He’d make his own way. Somehow. He refused their help. He refused them.

“Go stand next to your president!” Tommy screamed, voice lashing out. “You said you came here to be on our side.”

“I came here to destroy the government. And to protect my brothers, those two things just happened to coexist.” His voice was sharp, strained.

“You know what I think? I think you guys have to fight this out.” Tommy frowned up at Will, who was standing watching them both, hands clasped in enthusiasm.

“Tommy versus Technoblade?” Techno chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “Trial by combat?” Will laughed, the sound like a gunshot in Tommy’s head, before he gestured for them all to follow. There was a hesitation before Will slid his hand into Niki’s, falteringly pulling her down with him. Tommy stormed past Techno, refusing to be in the same room with him before he realised, he’d left Tubbo alone. But it was too late, because the pink haired man was walking behind him, boots hitting the ground with a thud each time.

“I say Tommy throws the first punch,” Will said when they reached one of the spare caverns they’d cleared out. There was nothing there, it was just a large, caved out pit. Tommy caught onto what Will was implying, and jumped down without hesitation, landing in a crouch before he straightened up.

“Sure, you wanna do this Tommy?” Techno asked as he followed after him, towering over Tommy in the pit. His cloak was lying at Will’s feet, and Tommy balked at the muscles he could now clearly see in Techno’s arms, through the floaty white shirt. He’d never noticed that before.

“You tried to kill Tubbo, Techno. You tried to kill my best friend and you called _him_ , Mr President.” Yellow eyes flashed in his mind, washed down with a lazy grin. _Take him out._

“I’m not doing this for Wilbur,” Tommy whispered, ignoring the eyes he felt on him. All three pairs of them. All the continuous eyes he always had on him. Always watching his every move, judging and whispering. “You just…you betrayed us.”

“They would’ve shot me where I stood.” And it was the slight pleading in his voice. Tommy couldn’t even tell if it was really there, or he just wanted it, needed it, to be there. But that’s what did it. The minute, insignificant, worthless crack in Techno’s words.

His fist met skin.

Techno retaliated instantly; all hesitation gone. Tommy heard his nose crack before he felt the firework of pain that seared through his face, before he tasted the blood coating his teeth as it ran down his chin. Movements mimicked each other like shadows, but Tommy was weaker, faltering where Techno was effortlessly sounder. Tommy’s knuckles met Techno’s jaw with an uppercut, but the older man barely flinched, elbow connecting with Tommy’s stomach.

Wincing, Tommy tried to straighten himself up, running at Techno before he could even see properly again. The older man sighed before he swiftly brought his legs out, swiping Tommy’s ankles.

The harsh ground ate his face.

Will laughed, the sound echoing around the otherwise silent caves as Tommy struggled to push himself up, arms straining pathetically. He dropped his back against the wall, slumped over at the side as he wiped the back of his hand across his face. It came back painted in red.

“And there we go,” Will breathed. “There we go.”

“It stays in the pit,” Techno said, red eyes dropping down to Tommy. He tried to stand up, but his body refused, screaming in pain when he did so much as shift. Techno moved instead, bending down so he was eye level with Tommy, arms resting on his knees.

“You betrayed him, Techno!” Tears burned down Tommy’s cheeks, leaving a hissing trail behind them. “You betrayed him.” They both knew they weren’t speaking about Tubbo anymore.

“It stays in the-”

“It wasn’t in the pit.” He spat out blood as Techno’s throat bobbed. The red bead landed at the man’s boots. “It was in front of everyone and they all saw that you chose to side with him because-” He was fully sobbing now, choking out his words in-between wails. If he’d had the energy, he probably would’ve been embarrassed. But everything hurt too much, and the smell of blood was slowly suffocating him, had been for hours, and he didn’t recognise the man crouching down in front of him.

“Tommy the conflict has been resolved. You threw the first punch.”

“That didn’t resolve our conflict,” Tommy whispered. They both knew it was true.

“Then what was it all for?” Techno asked. They both knew why. Because Tommy needed to feel something other than betrayal, needed something physical to focus all of the crippling emotions on, needed to feel his own blood drippling down his skin, instead of Tubbo’s. Because Technoblade couldn’t speak, couldn’t force the words out even if he wanted to. Because he needed someone to hit him too, needed to feel the weight of the punches.

“Tommy,” Techno sighed as he stood up, head cocked down at the young boy, crumpled up at the bottom of the caves, fallen to the bottom of the food chain. Shoved off of the cliff, tumbling towards the sea, the waves screaming in glee, ready to eat him up alive. 

“The thing is, you’re usin’ words but the thing about this world, Tommy, is that the only universal language is violence. And we’ve had that conversation. We’ve spoken that language. In the pit.” He shook his head as he gestured around them, gestured to the omission of Will, who had disappeared again. To Niki, who stood with her hands clasped over her mouth, legs trembling helplessly. To the two of them, both coated in blood. Unable to differentiate whose it was anymore. Unable to find it in them to care.

“It’s over, Tommy,” Techno said, as he vaulted out of the pit, looking back one last time. “On to a new day. A new plot to destroy Manberg.” And then he was walking away, carrying all of the splintered love between them with him, clenching it tightly in his grazed fist.

Tommy held his breath, chest painful, until he was gone, and Niki clambered into the pit. She pulled him into her chest, her own hands unsteady as she raked them through his hair. Tommy just clutched her jumper, everything coming out at once, a tsunami that racked his body and let himself completely break. He was too tired to try to hide it, try to carefully hold everything together.

Someone would pick up the pieces. One day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments really keep me motivated :D


	19. Le Réel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Having friends makes you rich beyond measure. Having friends is vital to how we live, survive and prosper. So we should not take friendship for granted."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter but Sapnap George friendship supremacy

Sapnap still smelled like smoke. Well, he always kind of smelled like smoke. But now it was in his skin, buried under his tendons and muscle.

He ruffled his hair, trying to get some of it out, as he sat in George’s office. He was on the floor, knees in a basket, and he felt like he was back in his old schoolhouse, waiting for assembly. He dropped onto his back with a sigh, spreading his arms out on George’s fancy carpet. It tickled his arms. 

The ceiling was so far away from him, wooden beams so high up as he lay there, waiting. There was so much empty space, so much spare air. A desk sat in front of a window so large Sapnap could lay his whole body across it and he probably wouldn’t fall through. The bookshelves that lined the walls were built from the same spruce wood as the roof, but most of the shelves lay bare. It looked like a massive timber ribcage sprawling across the walls, crawling up towards that high, high ceiling.

The floors were made from stone, and Sapnap would probably be freezing if it wasn’t for the plush rug, the colour of plums, the colour of fresh, kissing bruises against skin. It matched the purple banner that hung above the door, the colour rich, the purple woven in and out of itself like a sea of mauve. George couldn’t even see that colour.

Sapnap knocked his head lightly against the floor, fingers digging into the carpet. Some fucking festival that had been. Him and George had wandered off to look at the sunset, and when they’d come back, they’d found a slaughter. Unrecognisable bodies on the stage, some moving and some not. Screams hissing against Sapnap’s ears and a crowd of people running, shoving past him so he stumbled back on his feet, eyes wild as he scanned the scene. And then he’d felt a hand clamp on his wrist, and had let George pull him away, who hadn’t let go until they made it to the fortress, fingers grounding.

He'd walked beside George wordlessly, too many thoughts drowning his mind to catch onto. Only thing he could catch onto was George, only think he knew was George. So, he'd stayed beside his friend, who had looked like he might cry, blue eyes threatening to spill over. Like when Sapnap had tried painting once, and the watercolours had leaked across the canvas. And the jar of water had turned a pale blue from the bristles, droplets of inky blue bleeding into the floor.

George had brought him to a room, muttered something about it being his office before he told Sapnap to stay here while he went to find Quackity. And stayed there he had.

He’d paced the room for a while, boots scuffing against the floor. And then he’d lit the fireplace, watching as the flames devoured the logs hungrily. And then he’d moved away, the fire too hot against his skin, too needy. And now he was lying on the floor, wondering what it would be like to swing from the wooden beams above. Beam to beam, hands gripping the wood, splinters cutting into skin.

He sat up when the door squeaked open to reveal George, cringing at the sound, and also carrying a tray laden with food. Sapnap’s eyes lit up, but he tried to reign it in as George shut the door with his foot. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, frowning when George paused in front of him, arching a brow. “What?” Sapnap demanded, forgetting to be nice to the guy who was holding food for him. Forgetting for a moment that they were friends, brothers.

“Why are you sitting on the floor?” George asked, eyes flicking to the couch at the side of the room. The couch laden with blankets and pillows. All the fabric in this room was fucking purple, it hurt Sapnap’s eyes. He wondered if it had been done on purpose, if George sat in a room painted with something he couldn't see like everyone else could. Wondered if George ever felt like he was mocked by the colours, glinting down so brilliantly, self aware in their own beauty. 

“Comfy,” he shrugged. He waited for George to protest, or to scoff like he used to whenever Sapnap said something particularly stupid. But he just shrugged back, before he sat down in front of Sapnap, their knees brushing. He sat silently, watched as George pulled his blazer off and tossed it away, loosening his ugly tie before he kicked off his boots. They landed on the floor with a thud, dirt flicking off of them. 

When Sapnap didn’t move, George rolled his eyes, and nudged the tray towards him. Grinning, he dove in, shoving as much sourdough bread in his mouth as he possibly could. He hadn’t had bread in a while, living off of animals he could hunt. He didn’t accept the food Bad offered him when he visited, and refused to go back to his own house, the house he had shared with the fractured pieces of his soul embodied. He was a foreigner in that house now, bricks unrecognisable, bed cold.

“Did you find out what happened, then?” he asked, but because his mouth was preoccupied, it came out as meaningless garbling. George widened his eyes before he poured himself a drink of whatever was in the bottle he’d brought up before he told Sapnap to not eat with his mouth open.

“ _I said_ ,” he continued after gulping it down. The bread stuck in his throat. He ignored it. “Did you find out what happened?”

George pushed his tongue into his cheek, dropping Sapnap’s gaze as he trained his eyes on the carrots on the tray. “Was an execution,” he murmured, voice soft. “Schlatt ordered Technoblade to kill Tubbo. For treason.”

“Holy fuck,” Sapnap breathed. George nodded tightly; neck tight.

There was steak on the tray too, slightly raw. Miniscule beads of blood dropped down onto the ceramic plate. He bit his bottom lip as he sawed through the meat, nervously chewing on it as George sighed. “I miss it.” He was leaning his head in his hands now, legs bouncing up and down. They kept hitting into Sapnap’s knees, George’s suit trousers grazing his skin through his torn jeans.

He was looking up at the very, very high ceiling, blue eyes faraway. They were glowing in the light from the wooden chandelier above them. The candles burned slowly, glows almost inconsequentially small.

“Miss what?”

“You know what.”

Sapnap’s stomach sank, suddenly losing his appetite as he tossed the meat back onto the plate.

“I don’t know if we’re going to make it out of this one.”

He looked up, heart palpitating and shirt suddenly incredibly uncomfortable on his skin, every movement like a slash in his skin. George was still looking at the ceiling, sharp features prominent against the grey morning light.

“We’ll be fine. We always are,” Sapnap whispered, dark waves tumbling in his face as he tugged the headband off, letting it fall into his open palms, scarred and starved of touch, of feeling. George snapped his head in his direction, gaunt eyes baring into him. George always did that. Tore Sapnap apart with his eyes, picking his friend apart in front of him.

“We are?” George hissed, voice heavy, dripping in acrimony. His face softened slightly when Sapnap blinked at him. God, he must look really fucking pathetic for George to ease up. He looked down, unable to hold his friend’s gaze for any longer. “We weren’t okay after the last one. None of us were.”

“We lived.”

“We _survived_. That’s not living, Sap. We cohabited that house, drifting around like ghosts in breathing skin.”

“I’ll look after you. I’ll make sure you live,” he promised after a thick pause, the air slowly wrapping its fingers around him, pressing its pads painfully into his throat. George blinked up at him in wistful surprise and shock, pale lips parting. Then he snorted in amusement, shaking his head. George’s hair was longer now, curling at the nape of his neck. Sapnap touched his own neck, fingers terribly cold against his flushed skin.

“Ghastly work,” George murmured, face going distant again. He gingerly picked up the whole bottle, tipping it to his lips. “Others’ve tried. And failed," he added bitterly. Both of them knew who he was talking about. It hung in the air between them.

“I’ll try harder,” Sap said, feeling overwhelmingly desperate. George was all he had left. His best friend of years, the man who had the best shot Sapnap had ever known. The man who would never put walnuts in cakes even though he loved them, because he knew Sapnap hated them. His friend, still his friend, another piece of his soul still. “We can look after each other.” George’s lips tugged up into a sad sort of smile at that, blue eyes sliding over to meet Sapnap’s.

“Okay,” George breathed, voice feeling solid, laced with warm familiarity. He reached out; pale hand sharp against the deep mauve of the carpet. His hand was facing up, the scars from his bow’s string painting the pads of his fingers. George’s fingers were longer than Sapnap’s, and stronger. Sapnap had always thought they looked as if they should’ve been carved into granite.

He dropped his own hand into George’s.

“Okay?” he repeated, finding a smile on his own face, matching George’s.

“Okay.” His friend nodded, squeezing Sapnap’s hand tightly before they let go, palms drifting back onto the carpet. George went back to sipping on the bottle, and Sapnap flopped down onto his back again. The absence of their third was sore, an impression of a soft laugh worked its way into Sapnap’s mind. He dropped his head to the side, seeing blond hair, saturated eyes every hue of green, in his mind before he let his eyes shut.

After a moment, he heard George stand, feet padding against the floor. Sapnap’s eyes broke open, body going stiff as he waited for George to leave him again, waited for the crippling loneliness breathe into his veins. But George didn’t leave, just picked up the discarded blankets that lay on the purple couch before he tugged the curtain over the window, blocking the grey, barren world out. Kept it away from the two friends as George dropped back down beside Sapnap, this time to the right of him, letting the blanket encase them both. 

Sapnap smiled to himself as George rolled onto his side, knees curled to his chest, and let his eyes shut, blue safely hidden away. It was the most uncomfortable either of them had ever been, lying on the hard ground, wearing stiff clothes freckled with dirt and ash. But it was also the calmest either of them had felt in months, maybe years. The air around them was halcyon, the music of their soft breathing and the rustling of the blanket as they tucked themselves in deeper sedative. 

They’d make it out. They’d live.

Sapnap let his own eyes shut again, head in his arms as sleep called to him. All the horrible, scowling thoughts left his mind, replaced with soft smiles and long fingers of marble against his own and freckled noses accompanied with eyes so green they didn't look real when the light hit just right. 

The fire withered and died as the two men slept, heads buried in the blanket and each other’s warmth.


	20. Little Voices Buzzing Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In desperate position, you must fight."
> 
> Flatty patty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not a biggest fan of this one, but hope you guys enjoy nonetheless :)

“George?”

Quackity’s knuckles knocked on the door for the fourth fucking time. Still no response. He frowned, lips pressing tightly against each other, before he leaned back slightly to glance out of the windows that lined the corridor. The sun was outside, mockingly bright, casting pale rays of light across Manberg. Sometimes Quackity lost track of the time. There weren’t a lot of windows in Schlatt’s fortress.

He imagined pressing his fingers against the glass. Imagined reaching out, the light drifting against his skin. His fist stayed against the wooden door. Going to knock again, he sighed, shouldering the door open anyway.

“George? Where the fuck is-” He cut himself off when he noticed the piece of folded card, neatly placed on the desk. His name was scrawled on it, messily underlined. An ink blot bled through the card in the bottom right-hand corner.

Quackity felt like a stranger in an unwelcome place as he slowly crossed the room, boots clacking against the stone. The office was unfamiliarly neat. He literally couldn’t remember the last time this place had been neat. George had always been leaving shit around; plates of half-eaten meals littered his desk, the floor covered in discarded clothes, the fancy decorative pillows tossed around. But now, the office looked as if no one had ever even entered, let alone live in it. Quackity was pretty sure George had been living there.

He noted the tray piled neatly with plates, and an empty bottle of Schlatt’s ale, left on the chair behind the desk, before he picked up the note. George’s messy handwriting blinked back up at him, followed by a neat print at the bottom.

_I guess this is my letter of resignation. Maybe if we’d won, things could’ve gone differently. But we didn’t and things have gone to shit. See you around Q._

_George._

_PS. Sorry but I took some of the blankets, just in case you were wondering where the ugly ass purple one went – Sapnap :)_

Quackity folded the paper back up, nails skimming along the creased line. Whatever. It wasn’t like he gave a shit if George wanted to abandon them for the resident fucking psychopath. He was free to do whatever the hell he wanted. Quackity picked up his pace, the room suddenly seemingly never ending, falling against the door once his feet finally passed the threshold.

His back hit the wooden door, and he leaned his head back. He didn’t even realise he’d been holding onto his breath until a ragged gasp escaped his lips. So, George had up and left him. His gut clenched as he started off down the hall, pocketing the letter. George, who Quackity had run for office with, who Quackity had made this coalition with who was meant to be on the fucking cabinet with him, had left.

He paused outside a specific room, hand resting against the doorway. It was Tubbo’s office, the door left slightly ajar. Pushing it further open with his foot, Quackity glanced inside. The dim rays shining in through the window illuminated the dust in the air.

Potted plants sat around the room, green leaves bright and airy. Notes scattered across the desk; papers covered in red ink. Quackity bit back a sigh. Tubbo had been a traitor. That’s what Schlatt had said. Tubbo had betrayed them, had conspired with the enemies of the state, a usurper in amongst them. But Tubbo hadn’t _felt_ like a traitor.

Not when he always brought Quackity cups of tea in the evenings. Not when he sat beside him and they’d speak about the places they’d been, the things they’d seen, the things they still had left to do.

But he guessed traitors never really seemed like traitors at the time.

Not that any of it mattered anymore, he supposed. Tubbo was dead. Schlatt had had him killed, in front of everyone. And he hadn’t been able to stop it.

_Words failing, breath caught in his throat as he reached out for Schlatt, trying to tug his friend away from this insanity. Tried to pull Schlatt back into reality, because come on, they couldn’t kill a fucking kid like this. Public executions weren’t the way to go, even if Tubbo really was a traitor and even if he-_

Schlatt’s laugh had cut through the screams at the time. That was one of the only things Quackity could vividly remember. Schlatt’s hoarse laugh as ear-splitting screams of pain had erupted from all angles.

Tubbo was dead. George was as good as dead.

He was hit with the stark realisation that it was just him now. Just him and Schlatt.

A sinking feeling bloomed in his chest, pale petals of horror slowly climbing their way into his lungs, even as Quackity ignored them, fought against them. He just needed Schlatt. Schlatt was his President, sure. But he was a friend first.

Tubbo’s door slammed shut behind him, and soon Quackity found himself in another room. Schlatt was sitting on his seat at the head of the colossal hall, a foreboding chair carved from cobble. There wasn’t even a cushion or anything, Schlatt just lounged on the rock, legs thrown over the armrest, neck held up by one hand as a bottle hung from his other. His head was hanging back, glassy eyes staring up at the ceiling.

Dread coated Quackity’s tongue as he held it, eyes narrowing on the bottle, the light from the narrow windows sending green glass reflections swaying across the floor. He ignored it, ignored the way Schlatt’s body slumped loosely on the chair, like the man didn’t have enough energy to hold his own bones up.

“Presidente!” Quackity called, grinning as he stretched out his arms, dropping down into a deep, mocking curtsey. Schlatt’s own face was painted with a faint smirk when Quackity looked back up, nodding in acknowledgment before Quackity straightened back up.

“What do you want?” he asked, brows raising as Quackity made his way up to the chair.

The words were meant as a jest, the amusement clear in Schlatt’s voice. But Quackity had to make the mental call to not flinch, to not hesitate. Because while he was fairly sure it was a joke, what if there was an underlying truth beneath everything Schlatt said? Tubbo had chosen to risk his own life, had preferred to betray them than work with them. And George had run away, letting a pyromaniac guide him to safety. What if it wasn’t Schlatt, with his crude, boisterous way who had pushed them away? What if it was Quackity they couldn’t stand?

“We need to start on reforms,” he grinned, adjusting his hat when he reached the bottom of the platform the brooding chair was on. Tubbo was gone now, which left Quackity in second-in-command. He needed to pull his weight now, needed to sort through all their shit. Schlatt just gave a huff of amusement, mouth hanging open as he ran his tongue over his teeth.

“You wanna know what we’re gonna do today?” he asked, chuckling to himself. “We are going to drink a-fuck-ton of alcohol,” he finished, holding out the bottle to Quackity. When he shook his head, awkwardly scratching the nape of his neck, Schlatt shrugged, tipping it down his own throat instead.

“George’s gone,” Quackity said, his own blue tie feeling tight around his neck as he tried to steer the conversation back on track. He held out the card for Schlatt to take, but the other man just rolled his eyes before he shrugged. Quackity’s arm fell to his side, letter hanging in his fingers.

“You reckon that’s a good thing to do?” he asked after a moment of silence, watching as Schlatt finished the bottle, letting it smash onto the floor once he’d decided he was done with it. Trickles of leftover alcohol dripped down the stage, pooling at Quackity’s feet. He didn’t know what kind of alcohol it was that Schlatt was trying to kill himself with, but it smelled like shit.

“Let’s go.” He glanced back up to see Schlatt clapping his hands together with a grin. He stumbled as he stood, almost decking it off of the stage. He ignored his stumble, dropping down onto the floor with a lazy ease, draping his arm around Quackity. He smelled like a fucking brewery and looked like crap. Sleeves sloppily rolled up to his elbows, red tie around his neck, unspecified stains decorating his trousers. Quackity didn’t think he’d changed since the festival a day ago.

“That means you’re ready to work today, huh?” he asked, trying to mask his concern with a laugh. Schlatt nodded, or at least tried to not, before he blinked a couple of times. And then his knees buckled, gasping gently as his body dropped to the hard floor. Quackity reacted quickly, catching the other man in his arms. Fuck, Schlatt was heavy. He lowered him to the ground, Schlatt groaning as he held his head in his hands. Quackity bit his lip as he crouched down beside him, hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Are you gonna die? Are you-how much did you _drink_ , Schlatt?”

Schlatt pushed his hand off of him, scowling down at the ground. “I just need a second to calm down.”

“Yeah.” Quackity nodded, trying to choke down the nausea that threatened to spill. The smell was horrible, Quackity’s eyes tearing up slightly as Schlatt steadied himself on the ground. His fingers were shaking.

“My body’s rejecting it.” Schlatt muttered under his breath, looking down at himself as he rubbed one hand into an eye.

“What? Rejecting what?” Quackity asked.

“The anabolics,” Schlatt said as he pushed himself back up, firm on his feet for a moment, like it was simple. He offered no elaboration as he started walking again. Quackity followed him, staying a step behind. Their shoes hit the fortress floor in time with each other, both pausing at the same time as they reached the colossal doors of wood. Schlatt pushed them open with a repressed groan, hand coming up to cover his eyes.

“We’ve got to start working on our land,” Quackity said once Schlatt stepped over the threshold, polished shoes sinking into the grass. Schlatt nodded absentmindedly, hand still up to battle the sun, turning to look at Quackity over his shoulder.

“You got any coffee?”

Quackity blinked before he gingerly shook his head. “I don’t think that’s-”

Schlatt sighed, rolling his shoulders back before he started walking, face paler in the sun’s light than it had been inside. “You’re probably right. Oh my god,” he hissed, face turning into a scowl of pain as he gripped at his shirt.

“Schlatt?” Quackity asked, moving to touch the other man before he decided against it, shoving his fists in his pockets instead. “Mr President, we’ve got a nation to lead. Is everything okay?”

Schlatt nodded, fist still curled in his shirt, before he nodded again, firmer this time. “Of course, let’s go,” he choked out, hair hanging limply in his face as the two of them wandered through Manberg. People passed them without a word, but Quackity didn’t miss the glances shot in their direction. Especially when Schlatt shoved a coiled fist against his mouth, throat bobbing slightly.

“Right, okay,” Quackity said, voice straining as he desperately tried to plaster a face of optimism on. “So, you said you wanted to start the hotel?” he asked as they found themselves at the stage. Quackity braced his hands on his hips as he looked out across their land. It seemed less impressive than it had the first day it had been his. As if a film of dirty fingerprints had been lain over the city. When he turned back to check on Schlatt, he found the man leaning against the wall, looking spaced out.

“Listen,” he hissed, gripping Schlatt by the shoulders. “Get your shit together. Please. We have to-you’re the fucking President man, you can’t be pulling this crap. Not now.” He forced Schlatt to look him in the eyes, the other man’s skin flushed against his fingers. Schlatt just threw him a lazy grin, eyes smoky and faraway.

“You have no idea what five bottles of ale does to a man,” he breathed, laughing pitifully as he rested a hand against Quackity. He thought Schlatt was going to push him away again, but his friend’s hand just stayed there, as if Schlatt had completely forgotten what he was going to do.

“I think I’ve got a pretty good fucking idea,” Quackity scowled, wrapping an arm around Schlatt’s waist. He cringed under the weight as he tried to hold him up. Schlatt was almost a fucking foot taller than him, and it didn’t help that he was ill or something. He should’ve noticed earlier. All the bottles piling up, glass following Schlatt around like a goddamn shadow.

“Get off,” Schlatt frowned, voice stern as he forcefully shoved Quackity back again. He stumbled, back catching on the wall. Schlatt’s eyes flashed with hostility. Quackity broke contact first, eyes dropping to the floor. Stains of blood sat at his feet. Knicks in the wood from blades and arrows circled him. Miscellaneous weapons lay discarded

“The White House.” He looked up to see Schlatt staring into the distance, eyes narrowed in on the house that stood atop of the hill behind them.

“What?”

“The White House,” he repeated, voice crawling over Quackity’s skin.

“What about it?” He dared ask, voice catching in his throat.

“To be demolished,” Schlatt murmured softly, voice carried away by the soft howl of the wind.

“What, _no_!” Quackity protested. He chased after Schlatt as the other man started up the hill, slipping on the mossy ground. He tried to catch Schlatt’s wrist, fingers reaching out, but they fell through the stiff air, hanging uselessly at his side as Schlatt reached the top of the hill. He scuffed his shoe down the wall as Quackity watched, leaving a dirt streak against the white.

“I don’t have a pickaxe, so this is on you.”

“No, no,” Quackity repeated again and again, shaking his head as he placed himself in-between Schlatt and the building he’d worked so hard on before any of this shit had happened.

“Come on, Q, let’s fucking go,” Schlatt grinned, face feral.

“No, no, no. Wait, wait.” He was bordering on begging as he kept shaking his head, hands out in defence.

“I don’t have a pickaxe, don’t make me get a pickaxe,” Schlatt sighed, narrowing his eyes.

“No, we’re not taking it down.”

“For fuck’s sake, don’t be a bitch.” Quackity froze as Schlatt pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re being a fucking bitch.” He tried to ignore the insults Schlatt was mindlessly throwing, because he didn’t mean it. He was fucked, hyped up on drugs and alcohol and a deep-rooted issue of being an overall asshole.

“We’re not taking it down,” Quackity said calmly. “I worked on this. We’re not fucking doing that, Schlatt.”

“God, I feel like shit.” The other man sighed, sighing as he turned away from the building, wincing against the bright light again. The sun really emphasised the bags under Schlatt’s eyes, making them look almost tattooed on, dark purple two sweeping brushes on his skin.

“I don’t care how you feel,” Quackity snapped.

Schlatt blinked at him before anger crossed his face. And then he was storming back to the stage, snatching up a discarded, chipping pick and leaning it against his shoulder as he made his way up to Quackity again. Horror unfurled in his gut.

“Now I have to use this shitty ass pickaxe cause you’re being a bitch,” he snarled, voice dripping in infuriation as he drew the pick back.

“We’re not taking it down,” Quackity protested. He wouldn’t fucking dare.

“If you’re not going to carry out my wishes,” Schlatt shrugged. And then the iron pick met cement. And an amused smirk whispered against Schlatt’s lips.

“Stop!” Quackity cried out, arm flailing out towards Schlatt. The taller man easily sidestepped out of the way before he struck again. The sound was horrible, the scraping of cement against the metal like torture in Quackity’s ear. “What are you doing?”

“The White House is coming down right now,” Schlatt demanded. “I’m going to tear this shit to the ground and then I am going back to my -”

“I built this myself, asshole. We can revamp it,” Quackity tried, maybe a compromise would placate, but Schlatt wasn’t even listening. He just kept bringing the pick into the walls, the material crumbling pathetically to the ground.

“Oh, there they go, there they go!” Schlatt sang when the pick swung through a window. Quackity held his arms up to protect his face from the glass that flew out in all directions. Schlatt just kept singing.

“Stop man,” he begged quietly. Schlatt turned back to face him, expression desolate as he swung and swung and swung.

“You’re not enjoying this? You’re telling me you’re not having fun? Because I am having fun.”

“We share these fucking decisions!” Quackity was yelling now, voice sore in his throat. He couldn't recognise his own voice.

“Get fucking mining,” Schlatt snapped, jaw clenched as he paused for a moment, pick stilling in the air. Quackity held his breath. “I can’t take these fucking idiots,” Schlatt muttered under his breath, running a trembling hand down the side of his face. “Who did I get to take to run my fucking country with me?”

“Stop, I’m serious. I’m fucking serious.” Quackity’s words were slurring together in panic, words failing as the sound of metal smashing against walls echoed painfully around.

“Help me mine this shit,” Schlatt ordered. “I’m in charge. I’m in charge!” He was screaming now too, face furious as he spat at Quackity.

“We share these decisions,” he said again, feeling smaller than he ever had as Schlatt stormed up to him. He tried not to cower, jutting his chin out as he scowled. “I’m Vice President. You’re President. I’m Vice…we-we share this shit, man.” His voice came out weaker than he wanted, weaker than he needed.

“No,” Schlatt drawled, fingers tracing the cracked metal of the pick. He leaned close to Quackity, and he could feel Schlatt’s hot, distilled breath under his skin, scratching at him from the inside out. “No. No, you know what I see?” A pause, both men breathing heavily, eyes streaked with fury as they held the burning gaze.

“A fucking useless kid, following me around because he’s fucking alone. No friends to turn to so he pretends like he has any semblance of fucking power.” Another pause, breaths held. Tongue swipes along lips, followed by a shrug. “That’s what I see.”

A pause, painful this time. As the words settled into skin, dripping slowly into the rushing blood.

“You know what? Do it yourself.” Quackity threw his own pickaxe to the ground, Schlatt’s bloodshot eyes dropping to it. Not an ounce of regret on his face.

“You know what I told myself this morning, Quackity? I told myself that I wasn’t gonna take shit from you short, fucking assholes.” He bit down a scream as Schlatt turned on his heels, body wavering slightly, fingers still trembling against the pick’s handle as he brought it up over his head, the metal kissing the building. What assholes? He’d killed one of them, and the other had abandoned ship. Tubbo had escaped in death, wriggled out of Schlatt’s grim hold. George had escaped through his friend, grabbing Sapnap’s hand and letting him drag him from this fucking cesspit.

“You are in power because of my votes!” Quackity yelled, his own voice grating against his head. “You would have no fucking power if it wasn’t for me!” It was true, they both fucking knew it. Quackity had handed this to Schlatt. God, he was such a fucking idiot. He’d thought they were friends, that they would be partners in this. He knew Schlatt was a bastard, everyone fucking knew that, but God he thought…he thought Schlatt…fuck.

“You know what I hear you doing right now, Quackity? Fucking crying about it.” Anger watered his eyes, threatening to betray him as he roughly shoved Schlatt back. The man stumbled, pick tumbling from his fingers.

“We are in power together,” he pleaded, voice breaking horribly. “Why the fuck do we not share this _together_?” That had been the agreement. The agreement from the very start.

“Cry about it, dickhead.” Was the only response he got.

“You know what Schlatt? _Listen_ ,” he added as Schlatt kept his wandering, fuzzy gaze on the ground.

“Yeah, what? What?” he hissed, faded eyes meeting his.

“You are only in power because of-”

“ _You’re in power_ ,” Schlatt derided him, voice mockingly high pitched as he rolled his eyes. The anger had faded from his voice though, replaced with weariness and a slight twinge of desperation. “Shut up, man. I’m the fucking president, remember?”

“Fuck you,” Quackity shuddered, still shaking his head, like the movement would somehow reverse this. Would somehow have pushed time back to before Schlatt picking up the fucking pick. To before the festival, before the fucking election. “Literally fuck you.”

“You wouldn’t have power if it wasn’t for me,” Schlatt hissed, pointing an accusatory finger against Quackity’s chest. His fingers were chapped and cut. Quackity curled his lips before he stepped back, Schlatt’s hand hanging in the air between them.

“We. Did this. Together.”

“Under my fucking ballot!” Schlatt screamed, voice raw and terrifying. Quackity took a step back, the hairs on the back of his neck brushing up. The man looked fucking unhinged, yellow eyes flickering in an emotion the younger man didn’t recognise. Didn’t want to recognise. “Under my fucking ballot! I’m the guy on the paper, Quackity.”

“Oh my god,” Quackity laughed, the chuckle void of any humour. “How are you gonna advocate for democracy when you’re doing this shit? Fuck you man. I can’t do this anymore.” He didn’t realise how much he fucking meant it until the words had left his lips. Schlatt just shook his head, unbuttoned shit swaying in the wind.

“I just hear you crying about it.”

“You can find a new Vice President,” Quackity declared, tugging the tie off from around his neck. It fell from his fingers down onto Schlatt’s shoe. The other man didn’t react, face a cast of cold indifference.

“You are the worst, man. You’re the worst. Get the fuck off of my property,” he demanded, raking two pale hands through his dark hair.

“You’re a fucking dictator! I ran against Wilbur to oppose that shit.”

“I can’t ever get any goddamn help around here from you fucking bastards.” They were screaming over each other, the wind blowing their spit words away with grace, hiding the argument from the rest of the world. Only the bare trees watched the two friends’ declarations of hate, watched as their fingers twitched and curled into fists, as eyes flashed with anger and regret and pure, raw wrath. Only the bare trees, and another boy, hanging from the branches as he stayed hidden. He watched, with wide blue eyes, a sly smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

“Find yourself a new VP,” Quackity spat. “This place might’ve been better with better leadership.” Schlatt’s left eye twitched.

“I guess it’s time for you to go,” he mocked. Eyes flickered down to a fist at his side. A cruel smile braced his face.

“You’re too pussy to hit me,” Schlatt goaded. Quackity looked from his own slightly raised fist back to Schlatt, who stood there, face stirring and painted in antagonism. The fist dropped, Quackity flexing his hand as he took a step back. And then another.

“Fuck you, Schlatt.”

The man turned around and walked, leaving Schlatt to slump against the fucked walls of the White House. Quackity stormed through the forest, shivering in his shitty blazer, wrapping his arms around himself as he paused in a clearing, the weight of his new situation suddenly crashing down on him. He was completely and utterly, painfully alone.

A flash of red dropped down from above him. A wide, toothy grin. Quackity blinked, head tilting to the side slightly.

“Hello, Big Q.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for all your amazing comments! it's been a shitty couple of days, and was kinda hard to bring myself to write, but all your lovely comments spurred me on :D


	21. Cold Potato Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The King is only fond of words, and cannot translate them into deeds.”

“Hey.”

Tommy blinked out of his reverie at the sound of Quackity snapping his fingers in his face. “We’ve got to move, man.” They were in Fundy’s base, crouching on the beams that ran along the ceiling. Quackity had joined the revolution three weeks ago, and since Tubbo was still out of action, he’d become sort of Tommy’s partner in scouting. He still didn’t completely trust the man, didn’t know if he ever would, but so far, he liked him.

He’d been surprised to discover Quackity was only a couple of years older than he was, but it had made sense once the other boy had discarded the suit for a loose blue sweater and jeans. He looked younger, and although he’d gone from sleeping in a massive fortress to a fucking cave underground, he looked healthier. Tommy had been slightly worried for the boy when he’d found him stumbling through the desolate woods, dark eyes crazed and needful, laughing without humour.

 _“I don’t wanna do it anymore.”_ Tommy heard those defeated, desperate words every time Quackity spoke to him, playing in the back of his mind. Even though now Quackity seemed surer of himself, Tommy couldn’t help but see the man who had cowered beneath Schlatt, even if he did it behind a masking smirk, the cracks had torn through. They always did.

But Quackity seemed fine. Better than he had been when Tommy saw him at the festival, like one of the leaves that fell from the wintering trees that hung over the lake too early, left to float meaninglessly down until it landed in the water, sending ripples across the surface for no reason. Now he stood taller, sword hanging at his side as he ran with Tommy, howling with laughter as they vaulted over fences, stolen gear spilling from their pockets. His eyes were brighter, smile wider.

The same couldn’t be said for the rest of them. Tommy’d had to take a second glance the last time he’d caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the metallic gaze of his blade. His face was still slightly battered from Techno, the bruise that had begun as a purple stain above his eyebrow had sunk into the socket itself, and so now it had the appearance of a black eye. He looked like utter shite. And if he looked like shite, Tubbo looked like he was barely holding on by a thread.

_“Tommy!” He looked up from his training at the sound of Niki calling his name, sword falling to his side. “In here,” he called, wiping sweat from his temple with the back of his hand as she swung around the corner. She was smiling widely, a genuine smile that he hadn’t seen from her in a while. “He’s awake, Tommy.”_

_He moved instantly. Sword clattered to the ground as his feet hit off of the rocks, leaping up the stairs to the main cavern. And there he was, sitting up against the wall, hair sticking to his forehead, and small burn scars flaring against his pale skin, but he was there. Eyes open and smiling. Tommy tried to say his name, but his voice failed him, getting trapped in his throat, so he settled for flopping onto the bed next to Tubbo and pulling him into his arms._

_“Shit, sorry,” he said quickly when Tubbo winced slightly, going to hold him at an arm’s length. But the shorter boy just shook his head, gripping tightly onto Tommy’s arms until he took him back against his chest. Tubbo threw his arms around his neck, and Tommy could feel the boy’s frame trembling. He didn’t realise he was shaking as well until his knee knocked against Tubbo’s._

_“I’m so fucking sorry,” Tommy muttered into Tubbo’s soft hair, feeling a tight knot form in his chest. “I shouldn’t have let that happen.”_

_“It wasn’t your fault, Tommy,” Tubbo breathed as he pulled back, hands still on Tommy’s shoulders as they met eyes. Every hue of blue blinked back at him, as if someone had stolen the sky from where it hung above them all and given it to Tubbo to keep._

_“You almost fucking died, Tubbo.” The words came out harsher than he intended, but Tubbo just nodded solemnly, eyes dipping to the cloth wrapped tightly around his chest. “Does it hurt?” Tommy asked, biting on the inside of his cheek as Tubbo shrugged, fingers tracing the edge of the sterile fabric._

_“A bit,” he sighed, before he lightly prodded his face, weak eyes glimpsing up at Tommy. “How bad is it?” he breathed. “Honestly.”_

_“Looks fucking badass, man.” Tubbo snorted, but the despondent flicker was still there. It was hidden in his blue eyes, so subtle that anyone else would probably miss it. But Tommy wasn’t anyone else. Not when it came to Tubbo._

_“Honestly Tubbo,” Tommy said, lightly flicking his friend’s jaw. “It’s not bad at all. And no one’s going to think anything of it. You’ve seen everyone else’s scars, right? Dream has a fucking massive one right here,” Tommy told him, running his fingers against the right side of his own face._

_“He literally wears a mask, Tommy,” Tubbo pointed out, but he was smiling, corner of his lips tugging up lightly._

_“Nah,” Tommy shook his head before he gestured for Tubbo again. The older boy complied, letting his friend drag him into another hug. Tommy needed to feel Tubbo, needed to know that this was real, wasn’t a dream that he was about to have cruelly snatched away from him in wake, in the reality where Tubbo was still unconscious on the bed, breathing against his wounds. He’d stirred from his sleep a couple of times before, once when Tommy had been there. He had murmured, eyes slowly pricking open. But when Tommy had laughed, gripping onto his friend’s hands, Tubbo had drifted off again, lashes fluttering._

_“He wears it cause he’s an ugly son of a bitch.” Tubbo giggled and Tommy scoffed, cheeks aching. “I’ve seen his face, Tubbo. I’m telling the truth.”_

_“Shut up, Tommy,” came the reply, muffled by Tommy’s own jumper as Tubbo let his head flop into the hug. “Jus’ lemme hug you.” His words slurred together, and even though the boy had been asleep for three day straight, his voice was painted in fatigue. He fell asleep pretty quickly after that, breathing soft and regular._

He’d woken up every day since then, walking about the caves and demanding they at least let him help by doing menial tasks. Tommy would’ve protested, told him he needed more rest, if it hadn’t been for the slight desperation under his eyes.

So, when Tommy and Quackity came back from scouting, Tubbo would welcome them with steaming hot soup he’d help Niki make, two bowls sitting ready at the table for them.

_“Bet you wish you’d never came here,” Tommy snorted as he slid down into the seat next to Niki, picking up the spoon and instantly scooping the soup into his mouth. “This what was promised to you?” he asked, brow wriggling as he gestured with a lazy hand to the two bowls of soup. Two other empty bowls lay on the table opposite them. But Tubbo had already eaten earlier, and Quackity had fallen asleep as soon as him and Tommy had arrived back from scouting. “Potato soup day after day?”_

_“I_ like _potato soup,” Niki shrugged, spoon circling her untouched soup as she rested her head on one hand. “But no. I guess this isn’t exactly what Will promised me.”_

_Tommy froze, soup sitting in his mouth before he choked it down. Will and Techno were still living in the caves with them, obviously, but he rarely saw them. Was lucky if he saw the two men once a week. Lucky in either sense of the word, Tommy wasn’t sure yet. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved, he didn’t have to interact with the people he’d once called his brothers, or if he was distraught._

_Tubbo had forgiven Techno, which had pissed Tommy right off. But he’d been forced into submission, because watching Tubbo wrap an arm around Techno after he apologised, burn marks on his face still raw and tender, saying he understood why Techno had to do it, was too painful. Too painful, tearing at his veins, to protest. He wanted to pull Techno away, to scream and kick his head in and dare him to even look in Tubbo’s direction. Wanted to grab Tubbo, take his friend in his arms and fucking run away. Get a boat and get the fuck out of here. But he didn’t. He just stood there, watching in silence._

_“I don’t mind,” Niki said, lightly elbowing Tommy. When he looked down at her, she was smiling softly, grey eyes crinkling. “I like being here with you, and Tubbo. I miss my old home though, sometimes.”_

_Tommy nodded, leaning forward on the bench slightly. “What do you miss?” he asked, realising he’d never really asked Niki about her old life before Manberg. He knew she came from the same town as Will, Schlatt and Techno, by the sea. Guilt unfurled in his gut when he realised actually that was all he knew._

_“My brother,” she said, voice sounding faraway as she gazed down into the bowl, reflection waving back up at her._

_“You have a brother?” Tommy asked, brows flying upwards. She nodded, twirling a strand of dark hair around a finger. “I’ve not seen him in a while,” she admitted, bringing her knees to her chest as she leaned against the wall. “But I miss him, all the time.”_

_“I’m sure you’ll see him again soon,” Tommy told her, awkwardly patting her shoulder. Her woollen sweater scratched at his calluses. She nodded when he took his hand away, both of their gazes dropping to the soup. It had lost its warmth._

_They were both wondering the same thing as they sat in silence, on the hard, cold bench. Niki wouldn’t see her brother again if they didn’t make it out of all of this alive. If Will, who had promised them both bright things, had promised them both all of the stars in a fucking featureless sky, had given them threads of silk before he’d discarded them, left them to hang on fraying string._

_The soup was cold._

Tommy’s stomach groaned at the thought of the soup, cold or not, as he followed Quackity, leaping down from the beams, arms outstretched for the ladder opposite them. God, he never thought he’d be excited for the mediocre potato soup he ate every day. “Faster, Big Q,” Tommy hissed when he heard a thudding sound downstairs. Quackity nodded, scrambling down the rungs. Tommy followed, almost slipping.

When they reached the bottom floor of Fundy’s base, they both paused, watching as the auburn-haired man sat at a desk, scribbling in some book. His back was to them, so Tommy nodded once Quackity turned to shoot him a look, brow raised. They moved silently across the room, holding their breaths, fingers skimming the hilts of their swords in case things went South. Tommy’s heart clenched as he glanced over Fundy one more time, a flash of how things had been, of how things could be skimmed through his mind. But then Quackity was tugging Tommy out of the doorway by the sleeve, and the thought went as quickly as it had come, swallowed up by the violent urgency of reality.

That was how Tommy seemed to live now; trying to take things as they came, even as everything clattered down on him at once, a suffocating mess of bloodshed and betrayal and emotions.

“You find anything?” Tommy asked as him and Quackity snuck through Dream’s land. It was pretty much deserted since Dream had seemingly vanished, and Tommy didn’t think anyone would do anything if they saw him and Quackity, but they stuck to the shadows anyway, Tommy burying himself deeper into his windbreaker. They came up towards the tower that overlooked Manberg, pausing at the bottom.

“Just old treaties and land documents. You?” Quackity sighed, leaning against the tower, tipping his head up to the sky. They’d decided there was no point in raiding a base by scrambling about, the two of them just picking up anything of interest, so they’d divided up the workload between the two of them. Since Quackity had been in Schlatt’s cabinet, and knew what important papers to look out for, he took that side of the foraging, while Tommy looked for items that might be useful to Pogtopia.

Tommy shook his head, biting down a frustrated snarl, when a blur of brown caught his eye. Frowning, Tommy stepped forward, gesturing for Quackity to keep quiet as he stepped closer to the edge of the hill. His heart fell when he saw Will.

He was on the hill where the White House had once stood, long coat dancing between his legs in the wind. He looked otherworldly standing opposite Tommy, hands stretched out in a cold welcome. His brother looked out towards him. Brother in arms. Stains of blood swiped across his coat, scars torn at his skin, flesh tainted by previous choices. Harbinger of destruction.

Quackity came up beside Tommy, swearing under his breath when he saw Will too. Nerves shot through him as Will cocked his head, grinning. Like he was baring his teeth at them. Tommy’s fingers drifted towards the hilt of his sword when Will raised a hand, fingers gesturing towards himself.

“The fuck does that mean?” Quackity asked, sounding slightly panicked. Tommy just dug his heels into the ground, doing a mental inventory of the number of arrows strapped to his back. Then he took a step forward.

“Means we follow.”

Tommy didn’t run to Will, keeping his pace steady as Quackity followed, faltering behind a step. When they were a couple of feet away from him, Will spun around on his heels, clapping his hands together. Then he skipped down the hill, and into a carved-out tunnel.

“ _Tommy_ ,” Quackity breathed, unsheathing his own sword as they stood at the entrance. They glanced at each other, Quackity shaking his head ever so slightly as Tommy wet his bottom lip. The tunnel was dark, the tinniest glow of red fanning out towards them.

Rolling his shoulders back, wind kissing his face, Tommy walked forward. He heard Quackity’s steps behind him, a comforting presence amongst the turmoil in his chest. It only grew tighter when he came to the end of the tunnel, pausing in the threshold to a hollowed-out cavern.

Ink scrawled across the walls; lyrics of a song Will had sung breathlessly as they’d watched L’Manberg burn. The black ink dripped down the rocks, gathering in pools of blackness on the ground. Sticks and sticks and sticks of dynamite scattered the ground, and Tommy held himself back, terrified of the discarded explosives. They looked like fallen petals.

And right there in the middle of it all, hands in his coat pockets and grin so wide it seemed to split open his jaw, was Wilbur.

“I found it.”

Tommy took a step forward, lowering his sword. “Will.”

“ _Holy shit_!” Quackity came up behind him, choking on his breath as he peered over Tommy’s shoulder, eyes wide and lips parted. Will laughed. The sound was horrible, twisted Tommy’s insides.

Will rolled back on his heels, looking around the cave with pride plastered on his face. “I’m happy to announce-” he cut himself off, eyes sliding to Tommy, then to Quackity, then back again. Tommy felt Quackity’s eyes on him, panicked and confused, but he didn’t drop Will’s sharp gaze. He wasn’t scared anymore. Not of Will. Never of Will.

“Oh wait, Q, you don’t know about this,” Will said, mock apology in his voice as his tongue darted out quickly to lick at his own lips hungrily. Craving the destruction. “I’m assuming your new best friend hasn’t told you, right?” he asked, widening his eyes at Tommy.

“No, I-”

“I was going to blow up the festival,” Will interrupted Quackity as he kicked a piece of dynamite with the toe of his boot. Quackity and Tommy both tensed up, shoulders tightening. “Dream gave me tnt and its currently lying under Manberg. This button is connected to redstone that when pushed, will ignite and detonate it all.” Fingers brushed over the wooden button.

“I missed my chance to blow it all up. But people are here right now.” As Will spoke, facing the button instead of them, Tommy moved. He stepped carefully around the room, breathing hitched as he purposefully raised his feet, avoiding the dynamite. Quackity watched him, fingers digging into his face in panic. Although Tommy liked the guy, he didn’t have time to hold his hand through this shit. He wanted to join Pogtopia. Well, this was Pogtopia. Less of a clandestine rebellion training in a cave-system; more a broken family, slowly losing their minds as Tommy desperately tried to pick up the pieces as they fell. This was what Quackity had wanted to join.

“What better time to eradicate the nation, do what I said I’d do, than right now?” Tommy dug the top of his boot into the fuse of one stick of dynamite, watching as it crumbled to nothing. Satisfied smile on his face, he started doing it to every piece near him, rendering them useless.

“Wilbur, listen,” Quackity said, taking a cautious step forward. Tommy didn’t stop digging in his shoe, black fuse whispering into ash, repeat. “Listen, blowing up Manberg isn’t going to do anything.”

But Will didn’t even acknowledge Quackity, and Tommy punted the broken sticks of dynamite behind him as Will’s harsh eyes dropped onto him. A sad, twisted smile danced across Will’s lips. Tommy didn’t return the gesture, just lowered his brows. “Tommy, I’m going to do it today.”

“Do what today?” he asked, deadpan as he discreetly kicked away the dynamite. 

“What do you mean, _do what today_?” Wilbur laughed ruefully, fingers dancing as he reached out. Quackity batted his hand away, pressing Will back into a corner. “Move away from the fucking button.” And even though Will was seven inches taller than the younger man, he let Quackity lightly push him backwards, snorting when his back hit the wall. Dark hair hung in his face. “I’ll stand here, I’ll stand here,” he breathed, holding his hands up in false innocence.

“The festival was the perfect opportunity to do it, and I blew it,” he shook his head to himself, letting loose a huff of amusement. Tommy scowled at the sick pun as Quackity shifted his weight from foot to foot, wringing his hands. “I can save everyone from the tyranny of Schlatt and the… the _existence_ of Manberg and L’Manberg. So today I’m gonna do it.”

Quackity’s face paled. “You can’t do that shit, Will.” Tommy moved to stand beside him when Will snarled, for a second he saw a savage animal, snapping its jaw in aggression rather than his friend who closed his eyes when he played guitar. “Just listen,” Quackity tried, blocking off Will’s access to the button on the wall.

“The minute I get through I’m pressing the fucking button,” Will screamed, bordering on hysterical as he thrashed, right arm constantly reaching out, fingers twitching impulsively.

“Wilbur this isn’t the right thing to do!” Tommy shouted, hands on Will’s shaking shoulders. “You’ve gone insane,” he whispered as his friend glared at Quackity, his own hands falling from Will. He didn’t want to touch him anymore.

“You can’t do that shit,” Quackity said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Give me a reason!” Will snapped, shoving Quackity off of him. “One fucking reason why I shouldn’t blow it to the fucking ground!”

“You won’t gain anything by it, this won’t hurt Schlatt,” Quackity implored, shooting a slightly terrified look at Tommy. And also looking slightly pissed off at the fact Tommy hadn’t told him about all this from the beginning.

“Who else could it possibly hurt?”

“Fucking _everyone_!” Quackity cried, beanie falling from his head as he ferociously gestured around them. “Everyone who lives there!” Tommy watched on as Will’s face fell, gaze hardening as a shadow whispered over his soft features.

“I’m pressing it.”

“You’re gonna hurt more people than you want to save,” Quackity said, still standing in-between Will and the button, even as the older man snarled at him. “We’re all going to die; this isn’t fucking fair.” Will paused at that, blinking between the two younger boys.

“No,” he shook his head. “No, you two can escape.”

“You’ll die with this,” Tommy pointed out, speaking for the first time as he met Will’s gaze. He didn’t recognise the man staring back at him.

“Look, Tommy. Tommy, listen-” But Tommy shook his head, taking a step closer to Will.

“If you blow this up, you’ll take yourself with it,” he said, voice wavering.

“I just… I just wanna end it,” Will laughed pitifully, fingers digging into his hair. Visibly distressed, caged animal tearing its fur out by its teeth. “I want to press that button.” His voice broke into a tremble, the melody to the beat of his shuddering hands.

“If you do this Will, you kill us and yourself,” Tommy breathed, throat bobbing painfully.

“Why’d you have to make it so difficult?” Will hissed, eyes ablaze with raw resentment. Tommy choked down a sob. He could take Will hating him, could take the wrath and antipathy and the breaking of their brothership if it meant L’Manberg was safe. Will could blame him all he wanted. As long as his home stayed standing.

“If you’d just let me-”

“Do you want us to go down with you?” Tommy asked, genuinely needing to hear what Will had to say. Needing to hear his brother say it.

“I don’t want you to die.” Will’s face softened slightly, running a trembling hand down the side of his face.

“Don’t press it then,” Tommy said, voice quavering with languor.

Will shook his head, pointing a finger right in Tommy’s face. “Oh, fuck you,” he spat. Tommy braced himself, shoulders so tense he thought he might snap, bones splintering before he crumpled to the ground, skull cracking off of the rock. “Fuck you, man. Why do you make everything so fucking hard? You love it, Tommy, don’t you? You love L’Manberg.”

He didn’t phrase it as a question, wasn’t even looking at Tommy as he said it, but he nodded anyway. Will span on his heels, brows raising as he tilted his head down at Quackity.

“And you want to help us.” It sounded accusatory, and Quackity must’ve thought so too, because a frown whispered across his face as he nodded gingerly.

“When I ran against you, it wasn’t personal,” he explained. “I just wanted more freedom for that land.” He paused; dark eyes heavy as he looked at the wooden button. “And you blowing it up means all of this was for nothing.”

Will turned to Tommy, gesturing for him to move out of the way. Tommy shook his head, fingers flexing at his side. Will scowled. “Get out of the way, Tommy.” He didn’t respond. He could take it. Could take the hate in return for a safe home, for a safe L’Manberg. “That is an order, Tommy. Get out of the way!”

“No.”

“Tommy, if you trusted me, you’d step to one side.”

Tommy ignored that. “Do you really want to kill all of us?”

“Tommy, if you trusted me, you would move out of the way.”

Tommy ignored the tight feeling in his chest, and the sharp thud in his head. “If you really wanna kill all of us, Wilbur. Then…” He didn’t want to live in a world where he couldn’t trust Will. Where they couldn’t have L’Manberg together. Where everything was so fucking shit his own brother hated him, wanted him dead. “Be my guest.”

He watched as Will took a scuffed step forward, watched as Quackity stiffened. Watched as Will unsheathed the sword that hung at his own side, the sword stained with dark, congealed blood. Watched as Will brought the sword down on the button, wood splintering to the floor like feathers.

“We’ve tried my way, Tommy,” Will muttered, voice weary. He cast his gaze to the floor as the sword slipped from his fingers. The metallic clang reverberated around the room, running through all three of them. The two of them looked to Tommy, who stood, redstone torched illuminating him like a figure from the heavens, blond hair framing his face.

“It’s time to follow you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah I want to write a third part to this series about the exile but these boys do not know how to p a c e


	22. Irrational and Rarely Ever Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George: what you got there?
> 
> Sapnap (holding Tommy's horse's leash): a smoothie

Sapnap probably should’ve planned this better.

Probably should’ve waited until night or something. But George had been asleep when he’d left, and he didn’t think it would take him as long as it had. Hadn’t expected to have a zombie break his sword on the way, and need to rely purely on his wits, which admittedly wasn’t his strongpoint, to get around the mobs.

But here he was, dropped in the shit again, as George leaned in the entrance to their new base, coffee in his hands even though it was almost midnight, hair ruffled and face unimpressed. Sapnap’s hold on the reigns to the horse tightened as he tried a smile.

“Hey George.”

“What the fuck is that?” Sapnap’s throat bobbed as he shrugged automatically. His mind instantly went to _lie,_ but he didn’t know how to do that when the evidence was right in front of both of them, clicking its tongue and munching at the wet grass beneath them. Fuck.

“Who’s is it?” Sapnap tried his best to keep his face neutral as he pointedly ignored that question, shuddering in his coat. Fuck, it was cold. If George would just step out of the way.

“Fucking hell, Sap,” George sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Again?” Sapnap opened his mouth to protest, when George cut him off. “Even after I _specifically_ told you to leave _this_ fucking horse alone?”

“I didn’t think you were going to find out!” Sapnap protested. God, he knew George would react like this. But George didn’t understand. Didn’t understand the weight of what this fucking horse meant. “You were asleep when I left, okay?” George was fucking always asleep these days. As if he was trying to make up for the year of sleep deprivation by napping every fucking time he sat down with a blanket or leaned against Sapnap’s shoulder.

“And what were you going to do when I woke up and found a fucking horse in our base?”

Sapnap frowned, looking from George to the horse, back to George again. Alright, so maybe he hadn’t fully thought this plan through. But it was all he’d been able to think about for a week, ever since Bad had mentioned the goddamn thing.

_“I thought you two had died,” Bad cried out when George and Sapnap turned up on his and Skeppy’s doorstep. “No one could find either of you after the festival and I thought…oh, I don’t even want to tell you what I thought!”_

_Sapnap shot George a look over Bad’s shoulder, a look that said told you we should’ve told someone earlier. He was barely able to breathe through the tight hug Bad had pulled the two men into, wincing when Bad only tightened his hold, as if he couldn’t quite believe his two friends were there. “We’re alive,” George said after mouthing_ fuck off _to Sapnap._

_“Well, I can see that now!” he laughed, slightly pulling away from the hug so he could look at them. Sapnap took that small movement instantly and removed himself from Bad’s hold entirely. “Come on,” Bad said, gesturing for them to follow him. “It’s freezing out here.” Sapnap kicked off the dried, frozen dirt from his boots before he entered the house, instantly met with a wave of warmth he hadn’t felt in days._

_“So, you left Schlatt’s cabinet?” Bad asked once he’d led Sapnap and George into a small sitting room, gesturing for them to sit down on the couch. Sapnap dropped down instantly, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl beside them and tossing it from hand to hand. George kicked his ankle, and Sapnap sat up straighter, throwing his friend a scowl before he bit down into the apple with an obnoxiously loud crunch. God, he loved George, but being around him constantly with his kicks and looks was getting on his last fucking nerve._

_“I left Manberg, yeah,” George nodded, turning to face Bad. “Are you…?” He cut himself off, biting his bottom lip, but Bad seemed to understand because he shrugged, that warm smile still on his face. “I don’t know yet,” he told them. “Right now, the Badlands aren’t siding with anyone.”_

_“You’re not siding with Dream?” Sapnap asked, looking up from the apple as he rolled it in his fingers. Bad frowned, a sudden shadow drifting across his face as he leaned back in his chair, gesturing with his hand to Sapnap and George, who both seemed a little less comfortable than they had before._

_“Neither are you,” Bad pointed out, clicking his tongue._

_“That we’re not,” Sapnap muttered, tossing the rest of the apple into the lit fire in front of him, watching as the flames smothered it, before continuing to dance hungrily in the fireplace._

_“Have you…have you seen him, at all?” George asked, voice heavy with guilt. As if he hated himself for asking. Hated himself for needing to know._

_“I have,” Bad nodded, before he smiled sadly at the way George sat up. Sapnap didn’t react, folding his arms tighter into his chest. “I can’t tell you why. You understand.” George nodded, scratching the back of his hand. “So, do you guys have a base? Are you safe there?”_

_“Yes,” Sapnap cut in before George could speak, ignoring the wide look George shot him at the sound of his curt tone. Bad didn’t flinch at the coldness in his voice, as if he’d been expecting this. Maybe he had. Sapnap knew Bad wasn’t wholly human, with his blinding pools of light for eyes, and the drifting shadows that followed his every step. Had known Bad wasn’t wholly human from the moment they’d met, had always wondered what he really was. What he could really do._

_He’d seen glimpses of it during the manhunts they’d used to do for fun. As they chased Dream through endless deserts, and Bad had seemed to run without panting as much as him and George. As they’d scaled mountains, and Bad never slipped once, fingers moving instinctively from rock to rock. As they made their way through caves, nothing but the light of their crappy torches to guide them, and Bad always seemed to know when a drop was coming, grabbing Sapnap away from the hidden pool of lava before he stumbled in. And Bad had never mentioned any of it, just smiling when he saved their lives, or laughed that twinkly laugh when he reached the peak of the cliff first._

_“We can’t tell you where. You understand.”_

_“I do,” Bad nodded, smile still on his face, even if it seemed an inch more sadistic than before. “We’re on the verge of a war. And on the verge of a war, you can’t trust anyone. Even family.”_

_“We’re not getting involved in the war,” George said quickly, interrupting the silent staring contest Bad and Sapnap were having._

_“Oh?” Bad asked, blinking in surprise. “Fair enough. Very messy business, war. I understand not wanting to get involved. It’s insane, the amount of preparation everyone seems to be doing.”_

_“Really?” George asked, whistling as he shook his head. Sapnap didn’t speak, cocking his head slightly when Bad kept looking at him, as if he was trying to send Sapnap a message through his blinding stare and that alone. When he shrugged lightly, brows furrowing, Bad continued._

_“Yeah, Tommy has this godly horse he’s managed to get his hands on. He’s keeping it hidden in his house by the sea.”_

_Sapnap kissed his teeth as the corners of Bad’s lips tugged into a veiled smirk._

“What happened to us not getting involved, Sap?” George asked, voice dropping to a panicked whisper. The annoyance was still written on his face, but it was mixing with unease as he cast a glance over the calm horse beside Sapnap.

“I wouldn’t call this getting involved per se,” Sapnap tried, softly brushing against George as he stepped inside, the cold hurting his ears.

“What the fuck would you call it then?” George asked, watching in astonishment as Sapnap clicked his tongue in an attempt to lure the horse inside.

“I’d call it a hostage situation,” Sapnap said, probably a bit too cheery for George, who looked at Sap like he was crazy. He’d take offence if George didn’t look at him like that most of the time anyway.

He ignored George’s mouth opening and closing in disbelief as he lightly tugged on the leash, grinning as the horse started to walk forward, hooves soft against the floor. He led the horse down the stone staircase, further into him and George’s base. It was pretty cold since it was underground, the only heat coming from the brick fireplace George had lain with insane precision. And it was also pretty dark from the lack of windows, but it was safe, and it was away from everything else, which was good for the both of them.

It stopped George from waking up, shivering with terror, dark eyes wide and stricken. And it stopped Sapnap from sneaking out with a sword, stalking the paths for something to hurt, something to burn. Instead, they sat on the floor, reading or playing chess, purple blanket around their shoulders. Or Sapnap would pluck at the violin he’d found while George would strum his guitar, slightly untuned music filling the room.

“You’re a bloody psychopath,” George grumbled as he followed after Sapnap (and the horse), rubbing his temples. “I get you’re fucked up from after the war, I get that, Sap.”

Sapnap buried the sigh that threatened to escape at that as he tied the horse’s leash around a wooden column. George was obsessed with this idea that the war had fucked them up somehow. As if they weren’t already a bit fucked. As if the war had in any way spurred on Sapnap’s incessant craving for flames, the burning desire for everything to crumble into ash. So fine and insignificant that if Sapnap just blew, ever so lightly, it would all tumble away with him.

“But you can’t keep murdering people’s fucking pets.”

“I’m not murdering this one,” Sapnap said, rolling his eyes as he made his way over to the makeshift kitchen, smirking when he pulled a plate of mutton out from the warm stove. Then George snatched it from his hands, shaking his head as he held onto the plate defensively.

“No,” he said, holding the plate away when Sapnap reached out to take it back. “No dinner for fucking kidnappers.”

“Jesus, George, come on,” Sapnap pouted, stomach grumbling pitifully. “Look, if I have his horse, I have something to bargain with, okay?” He reached his arm out, but George took another step back, eyes narrowing.

“Why do you need to bargain? We promised each other we would try and stay out of this, Sap. You promised. Look after each other, remember?”

“Because he has Mars! Fuck, man, he has my fucking fish!” Sapnap trained his eyes on the floor when the words came out harsher than he meant, voice sharp as it sliced through the air, sliced through George. And sliced through Sapnap, as his head hung, white band drifting back and forth in front of his face, like a pendulum. He wondered what it was counting down to.

“He has Mars?” George asked, voice barely louder than a whisper. Sapnap nodded, face pained as he jumped up onto the countertop, feet knocking into each other in the air. He let his back hit the wall, slumping down into himself. He felt George awkwardly clamber up beside him but didn’t turn to face him until the other man held out the plate. Sapnap snorted before he took a piece of the warm meat, passing it from hand to hand in attempt to fight off the burning heat.

George didn’t speak again until Sapnap was chewing, uncomfortably quiet. “That means Dream…” he trailed off, dark eyes widening slightly at the plate on his lap.

“Yep,” Sapnap confirmed, licking his fingers.

“Shit,” George swore, fingers tightening on the ceramic. Sapnap cringed at the sound of the plate against his nails but didn’t say anything. He went back for another slice of mutton but drew his hand back as if he’d been burned when George’s head snapped up towards him, fury scrawled across his sharp features. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded.

Sapnap shrugged, chewing on his cheek as he tried to figure out what to say. He remembered the way his heart had sunk, looking at Tommy with his smug, gleaming eyes. How pissed off he’d been when Dream had appeared, hiding behind his mask and blade as he swung at Sapnap. Remembered how fucking destroyed George had been every time Dream had disappeared, leaving the two of them alone in a big empty house. It had been stifling.

“It was a while ago, and I didn’t want to upset you, I guess,” he settled on, sniffing from the cold that still attached itself to him as he looked down at George.

“I thought he’d come find us,” George admitted, throat bobbing slightly. “Once he heard I’d left Schlatt, I don’t know, I just…” He shrugs, blinking repeatably. “Really thought he’d come.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know where we are.” The words felt like poison against his tongue, especially when George gave a huff of humourless laughter. They both knew that wasn’t true. Dream could find a fucking needle in a haystack if he really wanted to. He just didn’t really want to find them.

The horse whinnied from where it stood, patting its hooves impatiently against the floor. George frowned sadly before he jumped down from the counter, grabbing an apple from the basket that held their slowly dwindling food-supply. Sapnap watched as George fed it to Tommy’s horse, tracing his knuckles down the beast’s neck.

“Would you forgive him?” George asked, not looking up as he continued to pet the horse. Sapnap had been asking himself that question a lot recently. Dream hadn’t shown any guilt for giving Mars to Tommy. Hadn’t come to beg for his forgiveness. But Dream had always been confusing. Had always hidden what he felt, what he wanted; even before he wore that fucking mask.

And Sapnap had been accommodating of that, his whole life. Since they were like ten, and Dream would always decide what they were doing on a whim, decide what they were stealing that day or decide which city they were travelling to. And Sapnap had loved it. Didn’t hesitate, didn’t question. Just let Dream grab his hand and run, placing every piece of his trust into the other man’s hands. He’d never though the hand would crush it, crush him, grinning manically as blood dripped through his fist and down his arm.

He shut his eyes and saw a feral grin, accompanied by a familiar warmth, laughing his name as he held out a hand flecked with scars for Sapnap to take.

“Yes. Every time,” he confessed as he opened his eyes, reality weighing back down on him. The reality of a stolen horse leashed in his crappy, cold, underground base, with a George who needed to escape the veracity of everything so badly he slept all the fucking time. The reality with no Dream.

“Would you?” Sapnap asked back as the horse lightly butted its head into George’s hand.

“Ten times over,” George breathed, pale lips parting slightly, as if something, someone had just unexpectedly touched him. There was no one there. “As he pierced me with his blade.”

A thick silence settled over the two of them before George left, heading off to his room, hand falling from the horse and flexing into a fist. Sapnap stayed on the counter, body suddenly feeling too heavy to move. The devotion to their friend mocked him, spat in his face, as he dug his fingers into his hair. It sickened him slightly, what they’d both just admitted.

The man who would not find them was the man they would swear their lives to. The man they would both slaughter for. The friend they would still, _after everything_ , destroy themselves for.

Sapnap looked up when the horse gave an irritated neigh, nostrils flaring in his direction. “Whatever buddy,” Sapnap yawned as he pushed himself down from the counter. “I’m sure he’ll come for you soon.” He ruffled the horse’s mane before he blew out the torch, the room encasing itself in darkness. “We’ll be waiting for him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for all the support!!! :D


	23. Losing Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do what is great while it is small."
> 
> The boys are fighting again.

Quackity pulled the thick beanie over his head, hair sticking out awkwardly. He frowned down at his own reflection as he brushed aside his hair, pushing it up into his hat. He was wearing his nicest clothes that wasn’t his old suit, which weren’t really that nice at all, now that he thought about it.

He was pretty sure this jumper was an old one of Wilbur’s. And Wilbur was about a fucking foot taller than him, so he felt like he was being smothered in tatty, navy fabric.

It also smelled a bit like smoke, but Quackity was trying to ignore that. He’d been trying his best to act like everything was normal, going about his daily scouting with Tommy, and attempting conversation with everyone else when he returned. But it was really hard to act like everything was normal when everyone seemed to breathe less here, seemed to consider the weight their words would hold before they spoke. When everyone acted like the caves weren’t carved from rock but sculpted from glass. And they could all see the cracks forming.

Quackity didn’t regret switching sides, not at all. Didn’t regret shaking Tommy’s hand that day in the forest, Schlatt’s words still whispering in his ear. Even if Tommy rarely spoke to anyone, a drastic change from the loudmouthed bother he’d once been in L’Manberg. Even if Will walked down the stairs with a strange, subtle sort of recklessness. Quackity was the only one who noticed how Wilbur would walk on the edge of the stone stairs, feet always teetering off the edge. Even if Tubbo tensed up every time Technoblade walked into a room he was in, before shooting the older man a tight-lipped smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Even as Niki sliced potatoes with slightly too much violence that was necessary, and as Tommy mashed them like they had personally insulted him.

Quackity tugged at the corduroy neckline, his own dark eyes glaring back at him. He was an outsider; they all knew it. He was here because he had insider information, had an in with Schlatt, even if they’d fought. He could feel the tension between him and the others, feel the rope between them tightening and tightening every passing second.

“It’s today, then?”

He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the voice, lowering the soup ladle flecked with potato skins he was using as a mirror. Tubbo was smiling at him from where he stood. The tension between him and everyone else, but Tubbo. The boy hadn’t been anything other than kind to Quackity since he’d gotten here. He wondered if they were friends. Wondered if Tubbo saw him, standing in a sweater that flopped over his hands, or in a suit, standing passively as he was executed. The washing guilt was eating Quackity up, peeling away at his flesh horribly slowly. 

But at least he’d stopped double taking every time he met Tubbo’s eyes. He’d almost passed out when he’d first seen him again, lying down in a bed, eyes painted with grogginess and face slashed with burns. Tubbo wasn’t dead, he was very much alive, despite everything.

That was the main thing that was holding Quackity on here. Tubbo, back from the dead, still ready to topple Schlatt’s shitty dictatorship. Tubbo, who had somehow defied all laws of logic by living through an explosive shot right at the boy’s heart. They could all do it too. Could all live through this too.

“Yep,” Quackity nodded, forcing a smile onto his face as he tossed the ladle into the sink. “Why else would I be all dressed up in my finery?” he grinned, especially when a soft chuckle came from Tubbo as the boy leaned against the wall with a grunt, hands on his side.

He was getting better, could walk on his own pretty much as normal. But Quackity didn’t miss the hidden winces and pushed down yelps of pain if he moved too quickly. None of them missed it. But Quackity also didn’t miss the pain in Tubbo’s face when he left with Tommy, bows strapped across their backs and wind pushing their hair in their face as they left with a wave goodbye. He also didn’t miss the number of people breathing in the ravine. Not enough for an army, not enough for a war. He just had to keep hoping it wouldn’t come to that.

“Are you alright?” Tubbo asked as Quackity grabbed the satchel with the book in it, tossing it over his shoulder. The papers to a building agreement. At least, that was what Schlatt thought he was bringing. The other man was completely unaware that Quackity was carrying Pogtopia’s last chance in his hands. Their last chance before Will blew it all to shit.

“With seeing him again?”

Like he didn’t see Schlatt’s face every time he tried to sleep. Sometimes his friend would be calling out for him, drowning in bottles of alcohol, choking on pills, clawing at his own throat until it bled. Other times he would be watching from the side as Quackity was strung up, rope tightening and tightening and tightening around his neck as he screamed out Schlatt’s name, rope cutting his hands as he desperately tried to free himself. And his friend would just stand there, hands clasped behind his back, and nod, all while holding Quackity’s eyes.

“Not like I’ve got much of a choice. Right?” Quackity asked, neither of them missing the way his voice cracked. Neither of them missing the question in his words.

“No,” Tubbo replied sadly, shaking his head. “I guess you don’t.” The words were kind, but stern. Quackity understood. They all had to be prepared to sacrifice everything for this. Had to be ready to face what they saw when they tried to shut their eyes.

The scarring burns on Tubbo’s face was enough to testify to that.

Quackity gave one last nod before he left the kitchen, lightly clapping Tubbo’s bandaged shoulder on his way out, not hard enough to harm the boy, but solid enough so he could understand the goodbye.

“I’ll see you when you get back,” Tubbo called before Quackity reached the last step. He smiled down to the boy, throwing him a lazy salute before he left. Tubbo’s promise tightened in his heart as he made his way into the dense forest. It had started to snow last night; a thin coating of white lay across the ground. It stuck to the bottom of Quackity’s boots, leaving behind a trail of dark steps.

When he got back.

He’d agreed with Tommy that the other boy would be there, hidden, as he spoke with Schlatt. But Tommy had left earlier that day, only muttering something about ‘ _my goddamn horse better be where I fuckin’ left it,_ ’ before he vanished, diamond sword swinging viciously in his hands.

So, he guessed he’d just have to trust Tommy. Which was hard, considering the fact the younger boy had decided against telling him about Wilbur until he’d been confronted with it in the form of a button ready to detonate the whole fucking city.

Quackity made his way out of the forest, venturing into Manberg. He mindlessly played with the strap of the satchel, running his fingers down the grooves in the fabric. The streets were seemingly abandoned, lanterns swinging in the wind, shutters groaning against walls. Quackity could’ve been the only breathing thing in the city for all he knew.

He found Schlatt on the podium, sprawled out on his seat as he used a knife to pick underneath his nails. The man looked even worse than before. His face had sunk in, cheekbones like needles and eyes like bullets as they took in Quackity and his blue sweater with an emotion he couldn't read. His footsteps sounded against the wooden floor as he walked until he was in front of Schlatt.

It felt like hell frozen over, as he stood on the podium coated in flecks of ice.

“Last time we talked, we ended up on bad terms,” Quackity started, voice sounding a lot calmer than he felt inside.

“Yeah, fuck you man,” Schlatt hissed, words slurring slightly as he sat up in his chair. “I’m still angry at you.”

“Listen,” Quackity started, arms out as if he was approaching a wild animal. He wasn’t fully sure he wasn’t, as Schlatt’s eyes flashed with emotion, teeth bared, and jaw clenched tightly. “Listen, we can fix things,” he tried, laughing lightly.

“How? How?” Schlatt asked, and if it was anyone else, Quackity maybe would’ve thought they were genuinely desperate to fix things, judging by the quiver in his voice. But this was Schlatt, and if Quackity knew anyone best in this world, it was Schlatt.

“I have a gift for you,” Quackity said, pulling out the leatherbound book from the satchel at his side. He held it out to Schlatt, both arms stretched out. Schlatt didn’t move, kept his eyes trained on his own knees. “If you ever wanna see me again man, you need to look at me.”

Schlatt’s face was a cast of crushing chagrin as his eyes flicked up to meet Quackity’s. His heart slipped slightly, and for a split second he wondered if he could go back to him. That maybe it hadn’t been that bad. Not really. Maybe if Schlatt just-

“Shut the fuck - why would you-” Schlatt stumbled over his words, shaking his head as he rubbed at his eyes with his blistering knuckle. “We’re on bad terms,” he breathed, as if he was reminding himself more than Quackity. “Let’s get this shit on the road. Give me the papers,” he ordered, one arm out in Quackity’s direction. He could see Schlatt’s veins in his arm, like an old, worn map of purple lines leading to absolutely nowhere.

“Do you want me to read it?” Quackity asked, tightening his hold on the book. “Then you sign.”

“Whatever.” Schlatt’s hand clenched into a fist before he drew his arm back. Quackity dropped his gaze from the man after a moment, fingers tracing each word as he spoke aloud.

“Conscious efforts ensure that the nation of Manberg is ready for a profitable building. Withing this document, it is permitted to build within Manberg ground, the ‘Manberg Hotel’. This document ensures that no personal relationship between Schlatt and Quackity will intervene in the building of this historic building.” He continued speaking, paper flimsy against his hands as he turned page after page carefully, as if the book might disintegrate under his hold.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Schlatt sighed as Quackity finished, closing the book over softly. “Give me the document.” Their fingers brushed as he handed it over to Schlatt, but if the other man noticed, he didn’t react, sitting back in his chair when the book was firmly in his grasp.

“God, I’m already bored,” he murmured as soon as he opened it, eyes scanning the page. “No personal relationships. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sign here for the immediate effect of this document,” he mumbled, stifling a yawn as he pressed his fist to his lips.

“Yeah, so if you just sign this, we can get that hotel of yours going,” Quackity said, plastering an open smile on his face. Schlatt looked up at him, light brown hair in his face. He didn’t brush it out of the way as he nodded, settling back into his chair as his eyes scanned Quackity up and down. The same colour as when the sun would hit a bottle of whiskey, golden brown twinkling in glass.

“I’m happy we could do this, y’know? It's not often there’s a good agreement between ex-friends.” A small, tentative smile crept up on Schlatt’s face, and Quackity let himself nod along. It was so easy to believe that this is what Schlatt was really like, under the crippling addiction and sharp, cruel tongue, and sneaking, knowing eyes.

“Glad we could end this on a good note,” Quackity agreed. He watched as Schlatt’s pen touched the paper, stepping forward in anticipation. But then the man hesitated, cocking his head as the pen left the page, and he clicked it against his teeth instead.

“Y’know, I was walking around the other day. And there was this hole under the cry-about-it monument.” Quackity froze up, knees threatening to buckle as Schlatt’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh yeah,” he nodded, faking intrigue. “Yeah, you know what? I forgive you for that,” he said, referencing the White House. He laughed awkwardly, casting a worried glance out to the old festival grounds, desperately trying to find Tommy. He said he’d be here, he said he would, he wouldn’t just leave him here, right? He wouldn't just-

“Alex, I found something there.” Quackity looked at Schlatt with parted lips. His birth name sounded foreign, especially on his oldest friend’s tongue.

“Yeah?” he breathed, all the façade dropping from his voice as he answered. The use of his name had caught him off guard, stripped him of all his armour as he stood in front of Schlatt, vulnerable and helpless. He could feel the wind licking at his skin, at the back of his neck, the underside of his wrists. Could feel everything as Schlatt stared at him, face painted in subsided wrath.

“I think there were some explosives under the monument I built,” Schlatt murmured, raking his shaking hands through his wild hair.

“I don’t know what that’s about,” Quackity tried to object. But Schlatt was standing up, rumpled shirt moving in the wind as Quackity took a step back.

“And it’s funny that I find these things after we have our little kerfuffle,” Schlatt continued, one hand gripping the book, the other still in his hair.

“Yeah, yeah, listen,” Quackity laughed, voice failing him as he took another step back, another step away from Schlatt. He yelped out when his foot met air, arms flailing before he managed to correct himself. He was at the edge of the platform, cornered, as Schlatt slowly continued towards him.

“And you know what I did, Quackity, when I saw all that tnt that _you_ planted there?” Schlatt’s voice dropped an octave, horribly crawling along Quackity’s skin, embedding itself in his muscles, his tendons as he cast a worried glance over the edge of the platform. He wouldn’t make it if he jumped. Maybe that would be better than whatever Schlatt had in store for him.

“It wasn’t me. I swear to god it wasn’t me,” Quackity begged, eyes wide with horror.

“Oh yeah, yeah. The other guy that’s on my bad side, it must’ve been him,” Schlatt snarled, hand reaching out to grab him. They both stilled when someone shouted Quackity’s name. He turned to see Tommy on the roof of the building opposite them, waving a bow wildly in the air with one hand, before he smashed a potion over his head with the other. He disappeared. Quackity went to call out his name in a mix of desperation and terror, when he felt something pierce his leg.

He screamed out in pain, instantly reaching down to tear the arrow out of his leg as tears of pain rolled down his face. What the actual fuck? He didn’t realise what was happening, how fucking smart Tommy was, until Schlatt spoke.

“Are you _invisible_?”

Quackity’s mouth fell open in surprise before he felt something grip his arm. “Let’s go,” Tommy screamed in his ear. Quackity didn’t even care enough to tell him to shut up, blind panic now seizing him as they ran from the platform, almost stumbling over each other.

“Let’s go, let’s go,” Tommy kept saying, hand still clamped on Quackity’s wrist.

“He knows he fucking knows!” Quackity screamed.

“He’s tailing us, we only have like thirty seconds of invisibility, fuck. He knows about what?”

“The fucking room!” Quackity yelled, voice hoarse as he struggled to speak. Tommy materialised in front of him as they paused, both gripping onto the other’s arm so tightly Quackity thought Tommy might just shatter his bones in his hands.

“You think I’m gonna just not follow you? You fucking imbeciles.” They started sprinting as Schlatt came into view, eyes ablaze as he pointed at them. Quackity’s feet hurt as they pounded against the frozen over ground, chest heaving frantically as he followed Tommy, the other boy limping like he always did. His face was screwed up in frustration at his fucked leg.

“He knows about the fucking room!” Quackity cursed over the howling wind. He couldn't even recognise his own voice anymore. Not over the tree branches' song and the terrible thud of his own fucking feet falling and his heavy breathing.

“I see you!” Schlatt called from behind them as Tommy and Quackity weaved into the forest, leaping over upturned roots, and sliding along iced over puddles. “God fucking damn it.” It wasn’t until Schlatt spoke again did Quackity pause, hands gripping a tree beside him because he really didn’t think his legs were strong enough to work right now.

“Lemme fucking tell you something, Alex. If you’re running back to Pogtopia I wouldn’t fucking do it. Because guess what I did with the tnt?” Tommy glanced at Quackity with blue eyes iced with terror. Quackity snarled. He wanted Schlatt to stop saying his name. Wanted Schlatt to stop fucking terrorising everything. Wanted Schlatt to stop. Stop stop stop stop.

Schlatt didn’t see him coming until Quackity practically piled onto him, gripping Schlatt’s shirt with his fists. “What did you do? What the fuck did you _do?”_ His trembling tone betrayed the raw pain searing through his blood as he raised his face close to Schlatt’s. Even his normal cold indifference had bled away, replaced with a look of treachery.

“I don’t think I should even tell you,” he spat.

“What did you do?” He heard Tommy ask from behind him. Quackity just tightened his hold on Schlatt, jaw trembling as he evened his gaze with his.

“Schlatt, what did you do to Pogtopia?” Quackity demanded, voice cutting through the wind as angry, hot tears threatened to betray him. “Step away, Big Q.” He did as Tommy said, dropping Schlatt’s shirt, watching as the man dropped to the ground, holding himself up by his elbows. The book fell to the ground, snow drifting everywhere.

When he turned, Tommy was aiming a bow at the space in between Schlatt’s eyes, gaze lowered. Schlatt grinned manically, licking his bottom lip as he stood up, Tommy’s aim following the whole time. Quackity’s fingers twitched when Schlatt grabbed the point of the arrow, and lightly pressed it against his own chest. Tommy didn’t flinch.

“I found the tnt you guys were working with, and I paid a little someone to take it somewhere. And I think I’ll leave it there.”

“Schlatt, if we kill you right now, you won’t be able to detonate-” Tommy started, finger resting on the trigger of the crossbow. But Schlatt wasn’t listening, bloodshot eyes sliding to Quackity.

“You know what really fucking sucks?” he asked, deep voice raw. “To find out that not only has your life-long partner in crime, not only did you _turn_ on me.” He stepped away from the arrow, the metal tip tearing his shirt as he moved towards Quackity. Tommy didn’t follow, legs shaking terribly as he just continued to aim it at Schlatt, even as he stood in front of Quackity. And if it wasn’t Schlatt, if Quackity didn’t fucking _know_ he was a liar already, hadn’t already breathed in Schlatt’s lies only to choke them out before, he would’ve believed the pain in his voice. Would’ve believed he cared, gave even one shit about him.

“But he plotted to destroy my nation.” Schlatt shook his head, laughing callously. “My nation!”

And fuck, if Quackity didn’t want to believe that Schlatt had ever cared about him as much as Quackity had cared about him so badly it hurt.

“It wasn’t that,” he pleaded, choking up on his words as he reached out for Schlatt. The other man took a step back, lips curling as he continued to shake his head. “You know it wasn’t that.” His voice broke off at the end.

“Oh my god I am going to blow up everything you ever fucking worked for,” Schlatt hissed, before he snapped his head towards the other boy, effortlessly batting the bow out of his hands. They all watched as it fell into the snow with a final thud. “You’re in for a rude awakening, Tommy.”

“If we kill you now, whose gonna detonate it?” Quackity asked as he unsheathed his own sword, aiming it at his old friend.

“Let’s just say the dominoes have already started falling,” Schlatt declared as he bent down lazily, grabbing the book with one hand. He blew on it, the dirty snow falling back onto the ground off of the leather.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Tommy demanded. Schlatt ignored him.

“Let me just check my suspicions before I do anything else.” Quackity watched as Schlatt flicked through the document, sick rising in his stomach as his heart continued to fall and fall and fall.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you right now,” Tommy said after snatching his crossbow back up into his shaking fingers. “You’d be a dead man.” Schlatt’s grin just grew, snaking up further on his face as he flicked to the last page.

Dark eyes slid up to meet Quackity’s. “Oh, look at this, Alex,” Schlatt coaxed, taking a step towards him. “Tell me what this says, _my friend_.”

Quackity didn’t respond, lips pressed tightly together. Schlatt hummed in amusement before he cleared his throat. “This document also herby turns Schlatt’s immediate resignation of power into effect. This power will be turned to Quackity-” He cut himself off as he laughed, the sound tearing at Quackity’s flesh. That’s what made him lose it.

“You son of a bitch!” Quackity screamed in rage and frustration and regret, lurching towards Schlatt. Before he could reach him, before he could beat his fist into his stupid fucking face over and over and over again, Tommy tugged at his collar, holding him back.

Schlatt watched on through eyes narrowed in ugly resentment. “Schlatt, did you get all of the tnt?” Tommy asked, slightly breathlessly as he kept a tight hold on Quackity. He decided that fighting against it would be more embarrassing, so he just shouldered Tommy’s hand off, keeping his feet firmly where they were.

“Well, that’s for me to know, and you to find out, buddy.”

“Fuck,” Tommy swore before he spun on his heels, looking out across the massive expanse of forest. Towards Pogtopia. Quackity went to follow when he heard a strangled scream from behind me.

“Are you kidding me?” Schlatt cried out in pure rage. Quackity turned to see him swaying on his feet, sounding like a normal twenty-one-year-old for the first time in his whole fucking piece of shit life, voice pained and strained. “You’re gonna turn against me like this? You fucking piece of shit!”

“Listen asshole, stay the fuck away from me,” Quackity shouted back, following after Tommy into the woods.

“Fuck you! And the sixteen-year-old pal you need to help you do fucking everything. Fuck you!” Quackity blinked back tears as he left Schlatt alone with the book, almost stumbling on rocks as he finally reached Tommy. The other boy didn’t comment on the water lining Quackity’s eyes, or how painfully personal that fight had gotten. He just kept running. If Quackity had to pick what he liked best about the scrappy kid, it would be that. He never stopped running.

“Where the fuck is Wilbur, Tommy?” he asked as they came up to the entrance to Pogtopia.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Tommy muttered under his breath. They paused when they reached the threshold. Quackity’s mouth hung open, sword falling from his fingers. Tommy breathed a throttled, _what the fuck,_ under his breath.

Every square inch of the main cavern was covered in buttons. Of all different materials, of all different shapes and sizes, all glaring up at the two boys.

“How?” Quackity asked as they took a cautious step inside. How the fuck had Schlatt done this? He had just left a couple of hours ago, and he’d left everyone else here? What the fuck? What the actual fuck?

“ _Tubbo_?” Tommy called gingerly, as he purposefully stepped over the buttons. “Tubbo, are you here? Niki?” His voice died down into nothing as the two boys tiptoed down the staircase.

“Holy fuck.”

The whole ravine was littered in buttons. Each one mocking in the darkness. Each one possibly connected to an insane number of explosives. One wrong step, one wrong touch. One wrong anything and they’d be smithereens. Schlatt’s laugh echoed in Quackity’s head as he buried his face in his hands.

The book lay abandoned in the snow, the last page viciously torn out and shoved in a pocket stained with whiskey and betrayal. Schlatt was holding the better cards, the two men both knew it, both felt it in their souls. But every stroke of luck had to catch up. And Schlatt was using up his luck quicker than his heart was beating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for all the continued support, I seriously cannot put into words how much it genuinely means to me :)


	24. A Spy's Diary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The end and aim of spying in all its five varieties is knowledge of the enemy; and this knowledge can only be derived, in the first instance, from the converted spy. Hence it is essential that the converted spy be treated with the utmost liberality.”
> 
> Fundy arrives.

_Confetti of perilous gold drifted down to the ground below. The flames licked at the fabric, the red and blue melting as spots of darkness ripped through. Fundy lowered the bow, fingers tightening around the wood. The burning arrow he’d shot towards the sky had blackened and burned too, lost in the mess of destruction that flew in the sky, barely attached to the flagpole anymore._

_A heartbroken cry fell with the flag, crumpling up into nothing. Fundy turned to see Niki running towards him, grey eyes reflecting the smoke as it funnelled into the sky, leaving a dirty fingerprint behind._

_“How could you?” Niki screamed out. Fundy watched as she turned to Eret, the man behind her shocked still. Fundy’s own reflection shone in Eret’s polished crown, sitting prettily on top of his curls. His own twisted face blinked back at him. Niki snatched Eret’s sword from his side, letting out a cry of anguish as she spun back to Fundy. She was gripping the blade horribly, fingers in all the wrong places as her boots hit of the ground._

_That didn’t stop Fundy raising the bow, squinting as the point aimed right for her torso. Niki, to her credit, didn’t hesitate, hair whipping in the wind as she carried on, sword poised to pierce his heart. She was getting too close, Fundy’s fingers stroking the bowstring. He could feel his own heart beating painfully loud, regret already mounting up in his throat, even if he hadn’t let go of the string yet. It kissed his fingers, begging him to pull it taunt._

_Please, Niki, he begged silently. Please don’t. He didn’t think he’d be able to do it. But he had to. For Will, Tommy, Tubbo. For L’Manberg._

_Niki let out a strangled scream as Eret caught her around the waist. She dropped the sword in surprise, and Fundy watched as Eret kicked it away quickly. Niki fought against his hold, scratching at his forearms. But Eret was a full foot taller than her, and infinitely stronger._

_“You’re a coward!” Niki screamed, fingers gripping Eret’s arms as if she now needed him to keep her up. “You’re a fucking coward, Fundy! How could you do this to us, to them?”_

_Fundy didn’t respond. Didn’t trust himself to speak without breaking down, begging for forgiveness, explaining his plan. But Schlatt might be near, Quackity or George might be listening. So, he just kept his eyes on Niki and Eret watching as tears of rage clung to her jaw. She kept yelling at him even as Eret lifted her up in his arms, holding her to his chest as he backed away from the ravenous flames._

_Fundy walked forward once they were gone, picking up the discarded sword. He ran a finger down the metal before he strapped it to his back. And then he continued on to Manberg, ignoring the way his unripen heart drooped, green and tart._

“Gentlemen,” Fundy said, trying and failing to hide the smile that tugged on his lips as he walked onto the platform of rock. He ignored the buttons he’d fitted around the ravine, clasping his hands together as three pairs of eyes fell upon him.

His smile fell when Tommy and Quackity unsheathed their swords, pointing them at his throat when he tried to step forward. Alright. So, this evidently hadn’t been the best time to approach them. He figured the button thing would piss them off, but he hadn’t been expecting this hostile of a welcome. They had been friends, once, right?

“Stay the fuck away,” Quackity hissed, face flushed as he jolted his sword, forcing Fundy backwards. He bit down a scowl. Who the fuck was Quackity to order him around? Up until like a minute ago he’d been trailing Schlatt everywhere, reaping all the benefits. He didn’t have to betray his family like Fundy did, didn’t have to burn down his own flag and turn his back on everyone who had ever loved him. He has one fight with Schlatt, and they let him into their faction without question? That’s bullshit.

“Gentlemen,” he tried again, eyes flickering up to meet Will’s, who stood on a platform above them, watching the situation unfold with a grin on his face. Fundy hadn’t seen Will in months, and he looked like a completely different person than the President in the L’Manberg uniform. Standing, covered by shadows, long coat dancing around his legs, not speaking. Will had never let Tommy lead the conversation. And here the younger boy was, brows raised and shoving a blade in Fundy’s face.

“May I have your time for one minute?” Fundy asked, starting to panic that they weren’t going to hear him out. That they were just going to slit him open in this cave, and it all would’ve been for nothing.

“Can you step the fuck away from the buttons on the path?” Tommy asked, voice lower than he remembered it being. “On the fucking path, Fundy!” Tommy shouted when he didn’t move. He frowned, ears twitching slightly before he gingerly moved, boots hitting the wooden paths as he stood on the bridge, Quackity and Tommy following his movements, swords still out.

“Stay there,” Tommy said, visibly relaxing once Fundy nodded, holding his hands up in innocence.

A whistle sounded from above, and the three of them looked up to see Will now sitting on the platform, legs swinging like a gleeful child. “He’s a man with nothing to lose, look at him,” he laughed, resting his cocked head in his hands.

Fundy’s throat bobbed as he tore his eyes away from Will, pushing down all the rushing emotions that threatened to drown him from the inside out. He wasn’t in the clear, not yet. He wasn’t there just yet.

“Gentlemen,” Fundy said, clearing his voice. Tommy looked at his suspiciously, as Quackity lowered his sword slightly, seemingly content with keeping Fundy on the bridge, out of reach from them. “I would say so far this has been a really fine evening, and what a fine evening for some good old double crossing.”

Tommy’s eyes widened, fingers flirting with the hilt of his sword as Fundy kept going, not moving from where they’d told him to stand. “Now let me just say I haven’t been completely vocal about my actions, I haven’t, I couldn’t tell anyone,” he said, feeling himself choke as he tried to find the words. He didn’t know how to get it all across, get across the crushing heaviness he’d been carrying for almost half a year. “But let me just say, Wilbur.”

He looked back up to see Will watching him with intrigue, twisted smile still plastered on his face. “I might have something for you that might lighten the mood.” Will blinked, but he didn’t move, running his tongue along his teeth.

“No, we’re okay, furboy,” Tommy scowled, gesturing for Fundy to fuck off back the way he’d come. “Fucking leave, traitor!” Tommy yelled, jutting his chin out as he pointed to the tunnels back to L’Manberg. Fundy frowned, brows furrowing as he shook his head. Alright, he’d tried to be diplomatic about this. And it clearly wasn’t working. Tommy and Will seemed to be as stubborn and pig-headed as they had been when they’d left. He’d fucking make them listen to him. He had sacrificed his soul to the goddamn devil for this, to help them, his family, and they were just going to try and throw him out? No. Over his dead fucking body.

“I have been documenting every single action that Schlatt has taken,” Fundy shouted back, stepping towards Tommy as he batted his sword away. Quackity bristled but stepped back down after Fundy scowled in his direction, teeth bared. “Ever since he set his foul feet onto that goddamn podium. I’ve got information that might help Pogtopia, alright?”

Silence fell over them, the only sound Fundy’s hitched breathing. He blinked when Will leapt down from the platform, landing elegantly, arms folded behind his back. His eyes danced up and down Fundy as he walked around the auburn-haired man, clicking his tongue.

“Fundy, before you continue on, did you put these buttons here? Was this you?”

Fuck. He didn’t want to lie to them. He didn’t. Not anymore. He’d done all this, so he’d never have to lie to his family again. But he wasn’t entirely sure this was still his family, the two men looking at him like he was a stranger in their home, a foreign bug who they couldn’t squish dead. 

“Schlatt is a very-” That must have been enough to hint at the answer, because Tommy scoffed as soon as he avoided the question, waving his hand around. The same hand that was gripping a diamond sword.

“Fuck you, dickhead,” Tommy spat, face feral as he shoved his sword into Will’s chest, who was rolling his eyes at the whole situation, like he couldn’t quite believe that anyone was reacting like this. Fundy would’ve agreed if he didn’t think Will was also lumping him in with Tommy and the acting like a child category.

Tommy took a steady step towards him, fingers littered with crappy bandages and scars flexing into fists. “I’m going to kill you.”

Fundy ignored that, choking down the frustration that was suffocating him. Why wouldn’t they just listen? Why could they never just fucking listen to him?

“Schlatt isn’t as powerful as-”

“He put the buttons here, Big Q,” Tommy hissed, and Fundy’s face bleached of colour when Quackity nodded, following behind Tommy, his own fingers twitching at his side.

“You think this is funny, asshole?” Quackity asked, dark eyes wide as Fundy sighed sadly. He couldn’t give up. Not now. Not when he was so close.

“Schlatt isn’t as powerful as he portrays himself to be,” Fundy said, voice getting louder to battle the sound of Tommy grabbing an iron chain hanging from a hook. It must’ve been for fishing or hanging up meat or something, but now it was being chained around Fundy’s wrists. Tommy scowled as he hung the other end back onto the hook. Fundy didn’t try to fight it, the metal cutting uncomfortably into his skin. He just widened his eyes, desperately trying to plead with the three of them.

Finally, his prayers were answered. Will stepped forward, hand on Tommy’s shoulder. The younger boy stiffened, left eye twitching with an emotion Fundy couldn’t quite place. Until Tommy subtly stepped away from Will, the older man’s hand falling like an axe humming through the air. Will didn’t notice, but Fundy did. He noticed the shift in dynamics now, understood why the air felt so hot and why the walls felt so tight. There was a rift, just like this ravine had split the earth in two. Something had split Will and Tommy.

“I wanna hear him speak. Let him talk,” Will ordered.

“He doesn’t have anything to say,” Tommy whined, face screwed up in annoyance.

“Schlatt isn’t as powerful as he perceives himself to be, he’s actually the polar goddamn opposite.” He wondered if the rest of them heard the desperation in his voice, heard the plea that had built up over six months of complete isolation from everything he’d ever loved.

“What does that mean?” Tommy demanded.

“I have proof,” Fundy answered, maybe a bit too quickly judging by the suspicious looks Quackity and Tommy shot him. Will was still smiling, watching with unhinged eyes. Fundy raked through his bag, holding out the small notebook he’d kept on his person for the whole time he’d been in Manberg. This little black book had been the only constant in his life for a while, and although it had been created to show his family, it felt foreign to hold it in front of others. 

“Wilbur would you mind reading this for me?” he asked, voice quiet as Will stepped forward, taking the book from Fundy with a tight nod.

“From page fifteen,” he breathed, excitement running through him. This was it. Fucking finally, they’d see.

“Page fifteen? Holy…” Will trailed off as he flicked through page after page, scarred fingers dancing over Fundy’s writing, the dried black ink laying the truth out. “Fundy, you did this?”

And for a split second, everything was as it was before. Will’s face, painted in pride and awe, and Fundy’s heart leaping, like it always did when Will showed him the validation, the validation he ceaselessly craved.

“I did,” Fundy laughed, slightly breathless before he gestured for Will to continue. “Read from page fifteen.” Tommy and Quackity watched on in controlled silence, for once, as Will nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear before he cleared his throat.

“The following is confidential information. If you are caught in possession of this diary, an immediate execution will result by authority. Schlatt has a severe addiction to alcohol and cigarettes to supress his aching body.” Quackity made a sort of strangled sound from where he stood, collapsing against the wall, hand against his chest. Fundy frowned, watching as the younger man buried his crumpling face in his own shoulder, but Will didn’t even pause, steady voice cutting through whatever breakdown Quackity was going through right now.

“He is unwilling to get it checked due to his pride. If this continues, he may suffer fatal consequences. Schlatt is incapable of swimming due to muscle decay. He seems to get weaker by the day.”

It was strange to hear someone else say his words. The hours he’d spent watching silently from the sides, not in Schlatt’s cabinet, never given any position of power, just watching as another citizen. The hours that he’d spent writing down every single fucking thing Schlatt did, just in case it mattered. And then, the past two months, wondering if there was any point in counting the pills Schlatt seemed to breathe, in keeping track of the alcohol as Schlatt seemed to become one of the glass bottles of whiskey himself, frail and rancid, only good when you need something to distract.

“Schlatt is surprisingly unaware of the concerns of the citizens regarding the state of Manberg. He is unaware, that in reality, he stands alone. He has no power. His entire stand is a façade. He is at his weakest point as we speak.” Will pressed his lips together as he shut the book, staring down at it in his hands.

Quackity was the first one to break the silence, screaming into the back of his fist before he laughed. “I fucking knew it!”

“What do you want from this, Fundy?” Tommy asked, ignoring Quackity as he stormed towards Fundy, blue eyes covered in shadows. Will stayed where he was, eyes still focused on the book in his hand, even though annoyance flashed over his face.

“What do you mean, what does he want, Tommy? He clearly-” But he was cut off from a panicked screech coming from the blond boy, who in his state, stumbled backwards, foot slipping off the bridge him and Fundy were on. His mouth formed a small o shape as his eyes widened in helpless surprise. He reached out, but there was nothing for him to grab onto.

Fundy tugged sharply on the chains around his wrist, gritting his teeth in pain as the chain pulled itself free of the hook at the expense of his poor hands. And then he was moving, grabbing onto Tommy’s extended arm, clasping his hands tightly. It was hard to pull the boy back onto the bridge as the manacles smashed against each other, but he did it. He didn’t let go of Tommy’s hands, his fingers too cold to be normal, until the boy’s feet were safely planted on the floor.

Tommy blinked up at him, brows knotting in confusion, as if he’d expected Fundy to let him tumble to his death. He cast a glance towards the rocky ground down below, hand rubbing against his neck before he turned his back to Fundy. The heavy chains on his wrist stayed.

“Why is he here?” Tommy demanded, and Fundy followed his line of sight to see Bad on the platform, hooded head cocked at the buttons painting the walls in an endless threat. “Where did all these buttons come from?” he asked calmly, as if he hadn’t just magically appeared in a base that was supposedly hidden from the outside world. Tommy looked furious, but he didn’t have time to tell Bad to fuck off before Will was clamping a hand on Fundy’s shoulder.

“Wait Fundy, you were the only person I thought was on Schlatt’s team,” he laughed, and Fundy watched as he pocketed the book, sliding it inside his massive trench coat. He considered asking for it back, but he didn’t want to annoy Will when he seemed like he was moving to see Fundy’s point of view here. He also wasn’t completely sure Will would give it back, even if he asked.

There was something in his eyes. Something barely hidden, something not right. Something barely hanging on by a thread.

“Well, Schlatt thinks the same,” Fundy nodded. The iron hit against each other every time he moved, every time he breathed. He saw Niki in his head, pale paper skin, destroyed and torn by the metal crowns she’d been forced to wear. Under him. He had seen it from afar, always too cowardly to visit her. Terrified he’d see himself as how she saw him if he went to see her. Terrified of who he’d see in that cell. He’d thought he’d see a broken soul, destroyed and slowly chipped away by Schlatt, crushed in his tight clench.

“Does he have _anyone_ on his side?” Will asked, white teeth shining in the glowing light of the torches.

“Schlatt, at the moment, is literally alone,” Fundy spoke enthusiastically, not noticing the way Will’s hold on him tightened, fingers digging into his coat. “He has no one by his side. All the citizens still there are concerned with his behaviour. He is literally at his weakest!”

“Fundy, are you really on our side here?” Fundy turned to the side, meeting Tommy’s gaze. All the previous anger had disappeared, replaced with a strange sort of sadness on the teenager’s face. As the torches shone down on him, dancing lights of manufactured orange illuminating his sunken cheeks, Fundy was hit with just how young Tommy was.

How fucked he was; with his lame leg and fractured mind, unable to trust family, unable to have a real family. How terribly young he was, with eyes that were still wide and horribly trusting. With scars a man twice his age shouldn’t have, proudly on display along his jaw, his neck, hidden under his clothes. Clothes that were poorly patched, fraying and disintegrating on his body as they spoke. Tommy, as much as he protested it, was a kid. And he’d grown up with war as his parent. With violence and slashes and blades as his role models. With screams of pain, and people being held down on tables as their skin was sewn back together as his bedtime stories.

“Always have been, Tommy,” Fundy smiled carefully. He went to reach out, just to touch him, just so Tommy knew he was there, when the chains held him back.

“Literally everyone’s on our side, Tommy,” Will laughed, shaking his head in pure glee when Tommy and Fundy both turned to him. Both of them turned to Will, who had been the only parental figure either of them had ever had. Will, who was looking past them, eyes glazed over.

“Do you remember when it was just me and you?” Will asked, words tumbling out of his mouth quicker than Fundy could keep up.

“Oh, I do remember,” Tommy nodded, nose crinkling as he cringed slightly. “It was really shit.” Will ignored that, looking back to Fundy with wide eyes.

“What I’m trying to say is, Fundy I despise you.”

What.

“You were like my son and you just betrayed me. I have nothing to say to you.” Fundy shook his head frantically, breathing speeding up. What? He didn’t betray Will, not really, at least. He’d done it all so Schlatt would think he was on his side, didn’t Will see that? Even Tommy looked slightly taken aback, shifting away from Will and Fundy to join back at Quackity’s side.

Fundy stayed where he was, feeling like the whole ravine had just caved in on him. He had risked everything for this, and Will still hated him. 

“But what I do have to say is, do you not see, Tommy? If we blow up Manberg now, only Schlatt will be affected it’s brilliant!”

“No, but we _can_ reclaim it! If no one’s on his side we just need to…”

The voices around him started to sound muffled as Fundy stumbled back until his back hit the wall. He dropped his head against the rock, watching as the three other men argued amongst themselves. He suddenly felt very cold.

As the others argued, voices rising and eyes flaring; Fundy fell, heart slipping, stuttering. He blinked back tears, wiping the back of his chained hands against his eyes. When he lowered them, a pair of pale, stripped back emeralds blinked back at him.

He nervously glanced around to see everyone else’s reactions, but he was the only one who’d noticed Dream. The man was sitting on a ledge, one leg up, the other swinging back and forth. After Fundy noticed him, he pushed the mask back onto his face, covering those soul-destroying eyes.

He waved at Fundy, who instantly stood up, heart thudding painfully in his ribs, like a stone rattling in a wooden box. A wide grin was clear from under the mask, and Dream hungrily licked his lips as he pulled his hood down, releasing a mess of blond locks, partially tied up by loose string.

“If we organise all of our boys, because Schlatt doesn’t have anyone to his name! He’s a fucking alcoholic. He’ll fall apart.” Tommy was still speaking, none of them had noticed yet, none of them cared enough. Holy fuck, they were all going to die. Dream had come to slaughter them, in and out, leaving their bodies here to rot. Leaving their bodies for Niki and Tubbo to find them, sliced open, guts hanging out across the sea of buttons. Or maybe Technoblade would find them, maybe he’d at least mourn for Will and Tommy, his brothers. Maybe they’d dig a grave for Fundy if he was lucky. Maybe they’d carve traitor into his headstone.

Fundy opened his mouth to speak, breathing painfully quick and vision swimming in panic, as Dream dropped down from the ledge onto the wooden path, nimbler than would be expected for a man of his fucking height. Fundy’s breathing shuddered, and he shook his head as Dream silently stalked towards him, twirling a dagger in his long, tanned fingers.

Fundy shut his eyes tightly, waiting for his final breath to be coated in labour and wet, sticky crimson. But it never came, and when he opened his eyes one at a time, Dream brought the dagger down into the loops of metal. He tugged, tanned fingers flexing as he pried open the chain. It fell to the floor like a warning bell, sounding out like a death knell.

Everyone turned to them, shouting out in panic and protest as Dream blew on the dagger, before he slid it back into his boot. “Jschlatt gave me something,” he said. He only needed to speak to shut everyone else up; Wilbur watching with unsuppressed joy, Bad frowning from under his hood, narrowing his eyes at Dream, and Quackity and Tommy scowling, teeth bared as the two teenagers tried to widen their stances.

“Dream?” Bad asked, voice light and tentative. Dream turned to look at him, an awkward smile on his face. His shoulders tensed under the netherite armour he was wearing, as if he hadn’t been expecting this.

“What did he give you?” Tommy demanded.

“I can’t say what he gave me,” Dream said, voice almost melodic in comparison to the harshness of everyone else’s. “But he gave me something that means I will have to defend Manberg.”

He wondered how Dream stayed above it all. How nothing seemed to affect him. If not giving a shit about anything was worth the lack of pain loving things came with. He used to think Dream cared about his friends, about George and Sapnap. Used to think there wasn’t enough words in any known language that could put into meaning the love Dream held for those men, for his family that he’d found for himself.

Fundy used to admire Dream for that. Putting everything else aside, putting aside all the times Dream had tried to slaughter him and his own family. He’d admired the way Dream would seemingly sacrifice anything for his friends. Now Fundy was starting to wonder if that had ever been true. He didn’t know what worse, the idea that Dream had never cared enough about them, and that losing them was never going to hurt. Or if Dream had loved them once, and had slowly lost that over time, over the struggle for power.

Maybe he still loved them, Fundy thought as he watched Dream slide his scarred and freckled hands into his pockets.

“What? Why?” Quackity prodded.

Dream shrugged, blond hair moving with him. “Well, I can’t say what he gave me-”

Will clicked his tongue in amusement, wriggling his finger in Dream’s direction. “Such a little anti-hero.” That seemed to get under the man’s skin, because he made a sound of objection, shaking his head. “I mean…you can blow it up if you want. I don’t care about that.”

“Awesome, woah!” Will laughed, eyes twinkling as they reflected a ceramic mask, finger-painted smile gleaming in the pools of darkness. “So, the plan is still-”

“No, no, no, no,” Quackity repeated, stepping in front of Will slightly. Keeping himself in-between Will and Dream, even as the two men continued to look at each other. Will was still smirking, but there was something else there, something deeper sewn into his casual smile. It sent something crawling down Fundy's spine.

“What could he have given you?” Tommy murmured, more to himself than anyone else, blue eyes watching Dream carefully.

“He gave me his signature on an agreement.”

“What’s happened, Dream?” Tommy asked, hint of care in his voice. They’d been friends once too. There had been a point in time, where Tommy had looked up to Dream as much as he’d looked up to Will. Fundy wondered how different life would be if it had been those two against Will, if Tommy had chosen anarchy and destruction over peace and prosperity. He supposed it didn’t matter anyway, since Will seemed to have his mind set on violent tendencies. Fundy had sacrificed everything, his soul, his friendships, his dignity, just for Will to want to blow it all to nothing. To make a mockery of everything they’d worked for, bled for.

“Saying anything more would give away his plan,” Dream sighed, pressing a tongue into his cheek.

“No, no, no it’s fine,” Will laughed, pushing Tommy behind him as he stood beside Dream. Fundy stayed at the side, wanting for nothing more than the shadows to swallow him up, devouring him into nothingness. “You see, Dream just wants to be on the side of the rebellion, right? And now that we’re the dominant side, technically…” he trailed off with a curt laugh, the sound sharp. “Would you agree, Dream? Would you say you just wanna be on the other team?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Dream shook his head, tilting his head down at Will. “I’d say my interest lies within myself and I have been given something that is more powerful than…” He licked his bottom lip, and even though Fundy couldn’t see his eyes anymore, he got the feeling that Dream was looking over each of them in turn. “ _Friendship_ ,” he settled on.

Tommy was the only one who looked upset at that statement, lips twisting into a betrayed frown. He looked as if he might cry, arms danglingly loosely at his sides as he seemed to slump into himself.

“Nothing is more powerful than friendship,” Wilbur laughed, his voice scornful and sardonic. Fundy wasn’t entirely sure who he was mocking as he grinned. Dream, or them? He had a suspicion it was all of them. “Look Dream, you can defend Manberg all you want-”

“You’re not shit, Dream,” Tommy interrupted, arms making exaggerated gestures in his anger. “Tell me what the fuck he agreed to.” Dream gave a huff of amusement before he nodded, lowering his face so his mask was about an inch away from Tommy’s nose.

“He agreed to something you never would, Tommy.”

The two stayed like that, everyone watching on nervously, until Will spoke up again, and Dream leaned away, condescendingly patting Tommy on the head.

“Here’s the thing. I was thinking, we do this like a gentlemen’s duel. Instead of a dirty war like we’re planning now, we pick a date, pick a time and have the war. And if it all goes tits up, I blow the shit up.”

“I am fine with whatever you want,” Dream shrugged, enchanted armour gleaming in the darkness of the ravine.

“Ten days, then,” Will nodded, clapping his hands together. Fundy winced against the sound. “And that is the be all and end all. It ends in ten days.”

“I just have to let you know, in advance, that you may have traitors in your ranks.”

A strangling silence collapsed, weaving its way around every single one of them as they looked around them. And just like that, as easily as slicing into flesh, the trust around them was cleaved by Dream’s taunting voice.

Schlatt may not have an army, but at least he could trust himself. Fundy wrapped his arms around himself, feeling eyes baring into him as he took in each man around him in turn. They didn’t have an army either. Just fractured people, unable to trust the person beside them not to sweep their legs out from under them, plunging them into the darkness below.


	25. It's my Problem if I have no Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It is a matter of life and death, a road either to safety or to ruin. Hence it is a subject of inquiry which can on no account be neglected. Having friends makes you rich beyond measure. Having friends is vital to how we live, survive and prosper."
> 
> Dream needs something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dream pov is back bb

Dream kind of just wanted to lie on the floor. He glanced down at the tiled floor of his kitchen, of the large empty brick house that he now occupied on his own again. He didn’t like it. Hated it so much that he spent most of his time gathering resources in the nether or trading in cities.

That’s what he’d spent the last week doing, as soon as he’d agreed on the date of the war with Will in Pogtopia, he’d gotten onto his small boat and rowed to the closest city. Which just happened to be the city he’d come from. The same sandstone citadel built upon a cliff, near enough to the sea that you could taste the salt when you breathed in.

_Dream stood on the citadel walls; arms braced on the stone as he looked out towards the sea. The lapping waves sung a lowly song, and he could feel the flecks of the water even from up here. The sun was beating down mercilessly, sending glittering diamonds across the water. A small town lay a couple miles away, right down by the surface of the sea. Houses of cobble and wood, the wind hummed through the lanes and brushed against the cheeks of the villagers._

_Rolled up sleeves, loose shirt and ruffled hair. Dream was pulled away from the view of the massive expanse of water when a hand grabbed his. Cold, smooth fingers squeezed his. Dream turned, back to the bone like white foam drifting aimlessly amongst the blue. Another stronger arm loosely wrapped itself around Dream’s shoulder._

_“Time to go,” George grinned as he lightly tugged on Dream’s hand, skipping as he led the other boy down the steps. Sapnap followed behind, tanned fingers tracing along the walls eaten by age._

_“Time to go,” Dream repeated, shouldering his bag as he let George’s fingers slip from his. His hand flexed, throat bobbing at the omission of skin against his, before it fell to his side._

_“Time for a new life,” Sapnap said with a laugh, looking out into the distance as they reached the entrance to the citadel. His hair was whipped back by the wind, dark waves dancing to a silent rhythm. George hooked an arm into Dream’s, and then his other into Sapnap’s. And then the three of them were running, salty wind guiding them down the cliff path, Sapnap almost decking it twice._

_They made it to the little stone town by the sea a couple of hours later, standing in front of a small townhouse as they waited for their fourth member. They watched as he picked up a bag and a guitar, looping it over his shoulder before he waved to the two men waiting in the doorway._

_Dream would taste salt whenever he licked his lips for days to come._

He bought netherite in the same city they’d left, tossing a sack of diamonds on the stall without a word. And then he returned, bringing the materials to Schlatt. Who was sitting at the foot of his stone throne, surrounded by bottles, every fucking time he came to visit.

But that had been the last time he had to make the boat trip across the sea to the city kissed by the sea. The last time he’d heard Sapnap and George’s voice in his head as he walked the streets, the last time he’d felt cold fingers gripping his hand every time he moved into the side to let someone past. Last time he’d started to genuinely believe in ghosts, because he swore to God that he’d felt familiar soft hair brush against his neck before he’d dropped the sack of armour onto his boat, ready to sail back to his own lands.

He’d been foolish to think it would stop, his friends haunting him, when he left the city. But here he was, standing in his kitchen, fingers digging into his scalp as invisible fingers brushed along the hem of his shirt, tugged on his ears and flicked him on the shoulder. He lost it when he felt something that felt horribly like one of Sap’s calloused, rough fingers swipe across the scar that bit into his face.

“Fuck off!” he cried out, fingers flying from his hair. They curled into a fist as they travelled through the air, meeting the wall with a grunt from the man’s mouth. He winced after the adrenaline dripped away, melting from his bones, leaving him with a sharp firework of pain etching across his knuckles. But as his pain grew, the impressions of touches were gone, leaving Dream’s body back to Dream again. There was now a dent in his wall, same size as his fist, the paint chipped and plaster caved in.

“There’s one in your hall too.” Dream turned with a scowl at the sound of _that_ fucking voice. “A dent. I assume from another one of your little baby rages.”

“The fuck are you doing in my house?” Dream asked, incredulous as he took in Schlatt sitting at his dining table. He scanned around, trying to find how the man, who was clearly drunk, (but then again, when wasn’t Schlatt pissed out of his mind now?) had broken in.

“Left the door opened, buddy,” Schlatt rolled his eyes, dropping further back in the chair as he leaned back on it, the front legs in the air.

“ _Okay_ ,” Dream nodded, face scrunching up in confusion as Schlatt yawned, arms resting behind his head. “ _Why_ are you here?” He wasn’t surprised when he didn’t get an answer, just a noncommittal shrug, but it didn’t stop him from being pissed off.

“So, you gonna win this war for me tomorrow?” Dream swallowed, throat dry as he walked over to the table, standing opposite Schlatt. “When have I ever lost?” he asked, grinning his typical cocky, lopsided smirk, even as his gut clenched. It was only when Schlatt’s dark eyes flickered over him, did Dream realise he wasn’t wearing his mask. He swore under his breath before he straightened up, scanning wildly around for his mask, hands instinctively coming up to meet his face.

“Relax,” Schlatt said, biting his bottom lip as he watched Dream panic. He paused, shoulders stiff and hands still on his jaw, glancing over at the other man through his fingers. “Isn’t like it changes anything at this point anyway.”

Dream nodded in agreement, having the make the conscious effort to unlatch his hands from his face. He could feel himself burning up in embarrassment. “You didn’t bring me my shit,” Schlatt mused, running his tongue along his teeth.

Dream gestured to the sack on the floor, leaning against the stove. “I was going to bring it later. I need to do something, was going to drop it off on the way.”

“What do you need to do?” Schlatt snorted when Dream shot him a sideways glance, jaw clenched tightly. “Whatever man. Keep it to yourself, I don’t give a shit. Serves me right for trying to make conversation.” Schlatt pushed himself up, clapping his hands against his thighs before he untied the sack and started rooting around inside. He ignored the sharp blades; the potions, and the new netherite helmet Dream had spent days bargaining for. A glass bottle was the only thing Schlatt pulled out of the bag, flicking his finger against the neck of it as he gave a satisfied hum.

“As always, pleasure doing business with you, Dream.”

“You’re still going to keep your end of the bargain, right?” Dream reminded him, watching as the man slung the bag over his shoulder with a grunt of effort.

“When have I ever let you down?” Schlatt asked, his own sardonic tone clearly amusing himself. “Yeah, yeah. You’ll get your end of the stick. I’m not planning on backing out now.” Dream nodded, watching as he crossed the room. He followed the other man, leaning against the doorway as Schlatt skipped down the garden stairs, walking along the wooden path.

Dream raised his brows when he turned on his heels, lopsided grin on his face. “You’re ugly as shit by the way.”

“Fuck you,” Dream called back, but the words lacked the usual bite to them. Maybe it was because they both knew what Schlatt’s inevitability was. They both knew what was going to happen. And Dream still despised the man, still hated everything he stood for. But he could scrounge up a scarp of pity for him, he supposed.

“Maybe in another life, Dream,” Schlatt winked before he turned the other way again. He must’ve been fucking freezing, Dream thought to himself as he watched the man leave, only in his loose shirt, the greying fabric mottling. “Now, go get my army,” Schlatt shouted before he turned the corner, bottle of alcohol swinging in his flaking, peeling fingers.

Dream chewed on his top lip, waiting until Schlatt had disappeared to move. He glanced over his shoulder, the empty hall staring back at him. He grabbed his mask and his sword before he left, tugging his hood over his head. He was going to go get an army alright. But not for Schlatt. This was personal.

He hauled himself up onto the treetops, making sure his sword was safely strapped across his back before he leapt. It was easier in the Winter, when all the leaves had shrivelled up and died. They didn’t get in his way, letting Dream jump from branch to branch without any hurdles. No one ever saw him in the trees. Especially not young teenagers, storming through _his_ lands with clenched fists, bruised cheeks and scuffing shoes, laces undone.

Dream kicked off a sturdy branch with his foot, leaping mid-air before he landed in front of Tommy. Unnecessary, sure. But cool as shit. What could he say? He was a showman, always had been.

Tommy cursed colourfully under his breath, scrambling to grab his own chipped axe from his back before Dream snorted, folding his arms. “What’re you laughing at, bitch?” Dream pushed down the spark of anger that threatened to cripple him. He wasn’t here to beat the shit out of Tommy. No, that would come tomorrow. No, Dream needed Tommy to lead him to something of his.

“You’re looking for Sapnap?” Dream posed it as a question, even though he knew for sure that’s what Tommy was doing. The kid wouldn’t risk being in _his_ lands if it wasn’t something big; not when there was to be a war tomorrow. Not when Tommy was one of his side’s best soldiers. Not when he knew Dream could cut him down where he stood.

And two weeks ago, he’d watched Sapnap drag a stubborn horse through the plains.

“What’s it to you?” Tommy snarled. He went to push past but paused when Dream placed a firm hand on his shoulder. Silent understanding crossed between them. They weren’t allies anymore, and they sure as hell weren’t friends. But currently, they had a common goal. Sapnap.

“He killed my horse, man,” Tommy sighed, eyes dropping to the ground. The kid was bleeding from a cut on his face. It looked pretty deep, splitting his left brow in half. Dried blood was swiped across his temple.

He doubted Sapnap would talk to him if he turned up on his doorstep. The doorstep of George and Sapnap’s new base. The new base they’d scraped together with each other. While they left Dream to stalk the halls of their old house, nothing for company but abandoned clothes that smelled of smoke and lavender and old notebooks scrawled with potion recipes and one very snapped in half violin. Sapnap would probably tell him to fuck off, slam the door in his face.

And even if he let him in, there was no way he’d agree to helping Dream. To fighting for Dream.

So, he’d use Tommy. The boy wanted to find Sapnap anyway, it was beneficial for the two of them. Tommy could get his anger out however he wanted, although he couldn’t have the kid stabbing Sap, and Dream would get his best soldier back. He had Punz, obviously. And Ponk and Callahan had already agreed to fight for him.

And there was that scrawny kid that had arrived with the new Manbergians Schlatt had brought along with him. Karl. All Dream remembered was Schlatt shoving a file into his hands, finger jabbing at a picture of a guy with floppy brown hair and a smile too wide to be genuine. Dream didn’t believe anyone could smile that happily for free.

_“Best guard I’ve got,” Schlatt said. Dream wondered if the ‘President’ was out of it. He normally was, but he also couldn’t normally string together coherent sentences, like he was doing now. “He wants in.”_

_“That isn’t really how this works,” Dream hissed, dropping the bag of materials and fucking alcohol onto Schlatt’s desk. “You don’t just_ want _in. I don’t just_ let _people in.”_

_“Who the fuck are these people fighting for, eh? You or me, asshole?” Schlatt asked, eyes narrowing as he shoved the file into Dream’s chest before he rolled his eyes. “God, you’re so fucking precious. He’s my best guard. He’s not a bad fighter. I want him in. So, he’s in. Capishe?” Schlatt didn’t even look at him as he tipped a glass of brown watery liquid down his throat before he flopped back into his chair._

_Dream didn’t speak, but he shoved the file into his pocket before he left Schlatt’s office, the door slamming behind him. “Have a good evening, sir.” He blinked, jaw clenching with annoyance as he turned to the guard stationed outside the office. Familiar grey eyes shone back up at him._

_He unclenched his jaw as he took in the guy in front of him. He’d clearly been listening to the whole conversation between Dream and Schlatt, but he couldn’t find it in himself to fault the man for it. He obviously thought that war was a lot more interesting than it was, if he wanted to join in so badly. Dream recognised that spark in the grey eyes, recognised it from green eyes he used to see a lot more often than he did now._

_“Meet me by the river tomorrow. Dawn. I’ll see what you can do,” Dream said, narrowing his eyes when the guy nodded eagerly._

_“Thank you, Sir.”_

_“Don’t call me Sir,” Dream frowned, ignoring the second enthusiastic nod as he started off down the corridor._

_“Thanks, man!” the guard called after him, joy in his voice almost pathetic._

_“We’ll see if you’re still thanking me by the time this is all over,” Dream muttered to himself as he left Karl alone outside of Schlatt’s door, punching the air victoriously._

He had the numbers. And each of his soldiers were exceptional. He knew they could confidently hold their own against almost any of the rebels, maybe apart from the blond kid who stood beside him now. But Sapnap was different to the rest of them. He wasn’t a soldier, wasn’t technically trained like Dream or Punz, wasn’t logical or consistent like Callahan or Ponk, wasn’t thrilled by the newness of it all like Karl. No, Sapnap was something more akin to a hurricane. Or like two sparrows caught in a hurricane, ruthless and brutal as they fought for their lives.

He needed Sapnap.

Sapnap was a whole army by himself. Accounted for hundreds of men on his own, flint and steel in hand. Dream would rather fight alongside Sapnap than any army of the old legends. Why would he, when he had his own legend in the flesh now?

“I know where he is,” Dream said to Tommy, gesturing for the kid to follow him. Tommy hesitated, eyes flickering over Dream, landing on the netherite sword that hung casually on his waist before he nodded.

“You’re not going to fuck me over here, are you?” Tommy asked as they walked through the plains removed from the infrastructure and destruction. Untouched by any of them. Just rolling fields of endless green. Seemed like it went on for forever, only interrupted by babbling creeks. They probably looked like they were friends – maybe even brothers, with their similarly blond hair the colour of dried straw, and the same square jaw. They probably looked like two friends on a walk, arms swaying. While really, they were slowly bleeding out from wounds on our skin they couldn’t find.

“I understand why you’re fighting on Schlatt’s behalf and we’ve had our quarrels but-”

Dream cut him off with a restrained sigh. “I’ve said before I’m not on anyone’s side but my own.”

“But you’re not going to-” Tommy tried, but again, Dream interrupted him with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Follow me,” he said, voice dropping as he shifted down a steep hill, calves burning in protest. His arms stuck out for balance, lowering once he came face to face with a badly made door. It didn’t properly reach the ground, light slithering out from the gap as the cold made its way in.

“What the fuck is this?” He heard Tommy ask behind him. He ignored the kid, rapping his knuckle on the door once. He could practically feel the air tighten inside, could practically feel George and Sap holding their breaths as if they shared the same lungs.

There was a rustle and then the door was being flung open to reveal a bruised Sapnap, harbouring a split lip, and a snarling George, paler than Dream remembered him being. They were both holding weapons, Sapnap’s fingers flexing around his sword’s hilt, and George ready to swipe his axe clean into Dream’s skull.

But as soon as the two men realised who was standing on their doorstep, the thick air dissolved into something even worse. For the first time in a while, maybe for the first time in his life, Dream second guessed himself. As George and Sap’s faces fell, the former making a small whimpering sound and the latter letting his arm clutching the sword fall, the tip of the blade scratching against the stone.

Dream stood outside, and the two other men stood inside, the threshold a harrowing strip that none of them felt was crossable. He tried to look at them how he should, tried to ignore the swirling grey in George’s eyes, ignored the scrappy fuzz along Sapnap’s jaw, which somehow made him look even younger. Instead, he saw a soldier, ready to be called for war, for his duty. And George, well, he’d always seen George as a crownless king, a wraith amongst men.

The three of them broke out of their sedative trance when Tommy pushed bast Dream, licking his lips. Sapnap looked at him slowly, as if he was still floating through his own mind.

“Are you going to invite us in, then?” Tommy asked with a stiff smile, gesturing to the base behind George and Sapnap. To Dream’s surprise, George just wordlessly stepped out of the way for Tommy, eyes still trained on Dream. Even though he was wearing his mask, even though he was still behind the threshold, and George was so far away, he didn’t let go of his gaze.

“You’ve got a lot of pets here?” He heard Tommy absently point out. It wasn’t until George moved, eyes dropping to the axe in his hands and back up to Dream, as if he might kill him anyway, that Dream stepped forward. George threw the axe onto a chest, not even flinching when it didn’t land, clanking onto the ground instead.

Sapnap had followed after Tommy and was standing beside the young man as he surveyed the dogs in the base, clicking his tongue at the fox. “Gonna stoop to my level?”

“No.”

“Do it. Kill them, Tommy. Be like me, do it.” Sapnap’s voice dripped in pure fire, eyes ablaze with ire and anticipation.

Dream had seen Sap like this before, had seen him scream with anger, taking his fist and pounding it into a tree over and over and over again until Wilbur had pulled him back by his shoulders, blood dripping onto both of them.

Dream had seen Sap say this shit too – when George and he had been fighting, George yelling about how someone needed to punch that stupid smirk off of his face. And Sap had just stood there, goading George into doing it, until the other boy had landed a harsh upper cut to Sapnap’s jaw. He recognised the tone in his voice. Had missed it more than he’d realised.

Tommy ignored him, turning to look at Dream from over his shoulder. Dream didn’t move from where he was, as if he might be shot if he tried, feet firmly placed on the rock ground beneath him, even as his head spun horribly, swaying like a lost fishing boat trying to wrestle the waves of a tsunami.

“This is what you wanted me to do, Dream?” Tommy asked.

“No,” Dream shrugged, acutely thankful for the mask on his face, and the way he’d trained his voice to stay passive in any situation. “Just thought you’d want to see.”

“I don’t want to kill his pets,” Tommy snarled, turning to fully face Dream now. “I want _mine_ back.” He sounded like a child, moaning and whining and stamping his feet. If Tommy wanted to act like a child, he shouldn’t have gotten into a war. Shouldn’t have been so loud, putting himself at the forefront of danger.

Dream nodded down at him before he spoke. “They’re dead.”

Tommy blinked in surprise before his face was cast over by a frown, brows lowering as he looked up at Dream. He looked away when he felt someone pass him, George’s arm lightly brushing against him as he went to stand beside Sapnap.

It burned.

“Kill them, do it. Kill the fox. You know you want to.” Sapnap’s voice would’ve been bordering on hysterical if it wasn’t so gravely.

“I don’t want to,” Tommy hissed, eyes pained in restrained fury. “You killed my horse, killed my cow…why would I do the same thing back to you? That won’t get either of us anywhere.”

Sapnap snorted before he shrugged and said, “And what do you suppose would get us somewhere, Tommy?”

“I want your netherite.”

“What?” Sapnap barked out, widening his eyes at George as if to say, _can you believe this, kid?_

“Yes,” Tommy bit out, fists tightening. “I’m challenging you to a test of strength. Swords. If I win, I get the netherite.” Sapnap stuck his tongue into his cheek, head tilting to the side. A curled strand of dark hair fell in front of his face.

“And if I win?”

“Your pets stay alive,” Tommy reasoned, voice tight.

Sapnap shook his head, all the amusement gone. “No. I want my fish.” Silence followed as Tommy seemed to consider this, rubbing two fingers across his brow. But then he nodded, sticking out a hand for Sapnap to shake. But as a large, tanned finger kissed in scars from a decade clung onto a pale slender one, its twinning scars relatively fresh, it wasn’t Tommy who Sapnap looked at.

The fight was over quickly. Too quickly. Another knock on Sapnap's belt. Another lit match tossed onto Dream's burning fire of need.

Dream followed Tommy and Sapnap when they left together after, Tommy nursing the small wound on his shoulder. He watched from afar as Tommy handed him Mars, and as Sapnap lowered himself to his knees, murmuring something into the bucket before he lightly tipped it out into the sea. Mars swam away. Listened as Tommy told him they weren’t allies, and that he would never trust Sapnap, but maybe they could be friends after. Sapnap nodded.

 _Friends_.

“I want you on my side.” Sapnap didn’t flinch when Dream spoke, dropping down out of the tree in behind him. Sapnap was sitting on a cliff, eyes reflecting the calm sea in front of them. He didn’t even turn around, didn’t even look at him until Dream sat down beside him, knees in a basket.

His dark eyes widened slightly when he noticed Dream wasn’t wearing his mask, blinking at the green eyes that stared at his own. He huffed before he turned back out to the waves, bringing his legs to his chest and dropping his head down onto his knees.

“I want you to fight for me.”

“Yeah,” Sapnap murmured, voice soft. “Heard you the first time.”

“So?”

“ _So_ , the battle is tomorrow. If Schlatt wanted me on his side, he should’ve come and found me earlier. I don’t work on short notice.”

“It’s not Schlatt asking,” Dream said, trying, and failing, to keep the annoyance out of his voice at the suggestion of it being anyone but his decision. Sapnap smirked into his arms, and Dream bit back a frown, realising he’d taken the bait. “It’s me,” he said anyway, heels clicking together. “I’m asking.”

“ _Why_?”

“Because there is no one I’d rather fight alongside than you.” That was the honest truth of it all. Dream left out the part about how he missed his friend so much it hurt. They were silent for a moment, one looking out across the large blue expanse of nothingness, the other looking at his friend, who held everything in his words.

“George told me.” Dream frowned, head tilting. “About what you said to Schlatt. About how you said he couldn’t hurt me.” Sapnap looked up at him from under dark eyelashes, raising a brow. Dream nodded, even though Sapnap wasn’t really asking him anything yet. “Why?” he questioned again.

“Because I love you,” Dream answered easily. “Because you’re my brother.”

The other man didn’t respond, and for a moment Dream was scared he was going to tell him to leave, to fuck off and never speak to him again. But Sapnap just dropped his head onto Dream’s shoulder, and everything dark and terrifying in his mind was sliced away by the feeling on Sapnap’s hair on his neck.

“George doesn’t want involved.”

“Okay.”

“But I’ll fight with you.”

“Okay.” Dream nodded enthusiastically, almost accidentally bumping Sapnap’s head off of his shoulder.

“Okay,” Sapnap murmured sleepily, eyes fluttering shut. The two stayed there for a while, watching as the sun crawled up over the horizon. Acting as a shining beacon for all who craved spilled blood to come towards the muddied grass of Manberg.


	26. Ten Times Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."
> 
> On purpose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe...my favourite chapter...I've written?? pogchamp?

The sky was streaked in a vicious orange, like God had lit the heavens on fire and the flames were falling down to George as he sat on the hill.

There was a silent understanding amongst the world around him that morning. As the sun hung by a fraying, burning thread in the early morning sky. The bare trees around him looked like blots of black ink, dripping up into the grey. The grass under him sharp, each blade a needle.

George gulped; throat raw. He could still taste the bitter words in his mouth, drawing his tongue against his bottom lip slowly.

_"You promised!” he screamed, hating the tears that lined his eyes as Sapnap’s image blurred slightly. Hated the tears. Hated himself for letting them gather. Hated Sapnap for leaving. Hated Dream for making him leave. Hated the air around him for letting him live._

_"You promised me,” George yelled, voice full of anger. Anger. Anger. Anger._

_“I can’t leave him alone, George,” Sapnap shouted back, shoving his helm roughly over his head. His friend disappeared behind a wall of netherite, dark eyes gone, replaced with pools of darkness and layers of untouchable armour._

_“He left_ us _alone, Sapnap,” George hissed, grabbing onto the younger’s arm in a final, desperate attempt to get him to stay. It didn’t work since, although Sapnap was younger, he was acutely stronger. He just moved normally, ignoring the way George clung onto him, as if he was little more than a persistent fly._

 _“What if you die?” he asked, digging his nails into Sapnap’s fingers and digging his heels into the floor. “What if you fucking die in this war, Sap? In_ his _war?”_

_“Then I’ll die fighting alongside my brother.”_

_“You don’t mean that,” George whispered, breathing laboured and wet. He shook his head, blinking away the tears. “You don’t.”_

_“I do,” Sapnap said, clearly trying to keep the frustration out of his voice for George’s sake. That just made it all worse. It made it all so much worse._

_“Ten times over, George,” he said, voice heavy under his breath._

_George dropped Sapnap’s arm, turning his back to the other man as he wiped his face with the back of his hands. Everything burned. Burned with aggravated anger, reds and golds peeling at his insides. Anger at Sapnap, ready to drop everything for Dream. Anger at Dream for doing this to Sap. For asking this of him. Anger at Dream for not coming to him. Anger at himself for caring so much._

_“You think I’m a coward,” George spat out, still faced away from Sapnap as he wrapped his arms around himself._

_“No,” came the instant response. Then came the solid hands on his shoulders of glass. Sapnap turned George around, fingers not harsh enough to hurt, but enough to ground him, enough to prove the world around him wasn’t fracturing beneath his very feet._

_“I don’t think you’re a coward, George,” Sapnap said, tilting George’s chin up so brown eyes met. “I’ll never think you’re a coward.”_

_He does, George wanted to say. Wanted to scream. He thinks I’m a coward. For not fighting with him like you. For not fighting for him like you. For not fighting for us like he did._

_But he didn’t say any of that. He just nodded and let Sapnap hug him tightly, going slightly limp in his arms, as if the conversation had drawn the last spark of life he had, out of him. He leaned against their threshold as he watched Sapnap leave, walking down the dirt path with two swords strapped across his broad back, and an axe in his hands._

_He watched his friend stride off to his death._

And now he was sitting on a hill, legs stretched out in front of him as the grass brushed against his fingers. The burning anger was gone, replaced with a horrible, hollow emptiness. Unfulfilled desire cresting and wearing itself dangerously thin between his bones.

He could see Manberg off in the distance, could see the pummels of smoke from the buildings, blowing through the air. If he shut his eyes, and listened hard enough, he could hear the sound of death, waiting in its stead.

He thought he was dreaming, or maybe he had somehow died in his sleep and this was what he saw before his soul was going to finally blink out, when a fuzzy outline of a horse appeared on the horizon. The yellow appeared next, flying beside the horse in the wind. George scrambled backwards as the figure continued pounding towards him, fingers clutching the dirt beneath him.

And then the horse trotted to a stop, and the figure blinked down at George. He looked, well, he looked terrified. George wondered if the yellow eyes were painted in fear because of the war that was mere hours away. The threat of a blade slashing across his chest, an arrow muttering curses into flesh, death’s pale outstretched hand. Or if he was scared of him. Scared of the crackling tension between them, treading the fine line of complete and utter worship, sacrificing their bodies to each other, with hatred, so burning and deep it was revolting.

Yellow eyes met his, and neither of them spoke. George’s body ached as scorching gold roamed up and down his body, before settling on his eyes again. He carefully stood up, ignoring the way his legs didn’t feel like legs anymore.

This was a god in front of him; sun casting ethereal rays of light across blond hair, smothering of freckles and a silvery slash sent right across his face. Oh, how George had worshipped that scar every night.

How, even now, he still worshipped it, every time he closed his eyes. Every time he breathed, the other man’s name against his lips, as if it was all he ever wanted to say, all he ever needed to say. As if the name was sewn against his lips, his ribcage, his palms.

This god had never been scared of death, not once, not since George had met him. Had seemed to walk alongside death, arms slung together like they were old friends, as he tiptoed across the line of life and the afterlife every day. With each snarl from a spider he missed, each explosive temple he leapt from, each cliff he teetered over.

Dream outstretched a tentative hand as George took a step towards him. The other hand tightened around the reigns, jaw setting, until George caved in. Because he always caved in. He always gave into it, into him. What else could he do? He had given Dream his life, from the first day they met. Had practically begged the other man to take it, to take him.

He couldn’t live without him. It would’ve been easier to give up air. Without him, without his breath and his rough skin and the way he smiled when an axe fell with a low hum, George’s chest felt like an old, swollen piece of fruit. Ready to be split open with rot.

So, he took his hand.

And the boy framed by blond, burning light turned to look at him over his shoulder as he settled on the horse’s back. They still didn’t speak, the air around them too fragile. Neither wanting to speak in case they spoke wrong, no words to properly articulate everything or anything coming to mind.

Dream smiled, buttery eyes crinkling. George still didn’t speak, didn’t smile. But pale arms wrapped around a strong waist, tugging himself closer, chest to back. And Dream seemed satisfied by that, because he lightly squeezed the horse, one hand straying above George’s knee, but not touching, never touching him.

And they rode. To where, George didn’t know. And maybe he didn’t care. He tightened his hold around the man who could get away with murder with his pale, calculating, cruel, beautiful yellow eyes. He could murder George, fingers clutching the knife with one hand, his neck with the other, and he would still let him kiss his lips.

And because, if he tried hard enough, he could pretend this was a dream, he let his head drop back. He would fall if it wasn’t for the arms he kept wrapped around the man in front of him, wind slashing across his face. And then the wavering hand dropped onto his knee, and George’s whole body stilled.

And he sat up slowly, and because this could be a dream, he murmured the man’s name against his neck, his real unbreathable name, counting each freckle. Just to make sure nothing had changed since he’d last counted.

The horse stopped once they came to Eret’s castle, the stone building stark against the pale sky. Dream’s hand left his knee, and he dropped down onto the ground. George watched as he fished his mask out from inside his coat, placing it over his face. Yellow eyes disappeared. George ignored the outstretched hand this time, rolling his eyes before he jumped down off the horse himself, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets.

He didn’t trust Dream to not reach out again. And he didn’t trust himself to not let the other man grab onto him, to stitch their flesh together. Because this was clearly not a dream. And it was easier to focus himself in the still, cold, dark air as Punz and Callahan waited at the entrance to the castle for them.

He didn’t dare ask Dream what was happening, tried to push the idea that this might be a trap from his mind. Dream could hurt him if he wanted. Dream could chain him up and leave him to rot in a cell for the rest of his pathetic life, if that’s what he wanted from George. He thought that maybe he’d let Dream do anything to him.

He followed a step behind as they climbed the stone steps, Dream waiting for him at the top. He kept his hands in his pockets, not looking at the other man. He could see the confusion in Dream’s body, in the stiffness of his neck, the crooked way he was holding his shoulders. And he ignored it, choking down everything that threatened to boil over, like a capsizing boat.

Callahan nodded to him once they reached the other two men, and George offered a soft smile back. It had been long, too long, since he’d seen his old friend. Punz raised a brow to Dream, shaggy blond hair swaying in the wind, before Dream nodded, tearing his gaze away from George.

They walked into the castle in silence, Dream at the front as he cracked his knuckles. George held his breath as they entered the throne room, Eret standing in the middle of the room with a stony look on his face. He wasn’t on his throne. Everyone seemed to know what was happening. Everyone apart from George.

Punz and Callahan stopped walking, hesitating near the massive oak doors, as Dream kept stalking forward, each step jarring. George looked to the other men in panic when Dream unsheathed his sword as he walked, clicking his tongue as he stopped a couple of feet before Eret.

“Eret,” Dream said, voice low and gravely. George’s throat bobbed. Maybe his separation from Dream, the cleaving of their relationship had been a speckle of freedom amongst the dark expanse of worship he held for the other man. Maybe it had been a chance to find another tether to life, a healthier tether to life. A shot at freedom.

But freedom was nothing but distance between the hunter and his prey. And George never wanted Dream to stop hunting him. To stop killing him slowly.

“I need you to take that crown off.”

Eret balked, tightening his lips. He looked towards George who just blinked in confusion, shrugging softly. He paused when Dream casually tilted his head back towards him, and even though he was wearing his mask, yellow eyes bared into his skin.

“Just to let you know, George,” Dream drawled lazily. “Eret, has decided to side with Wilbur and Tommy in the war. I told him to stay neutral, but he didn’t _listen_.” George’s heart fell. Eret’s nostrils flared slightly, but other than that he didn’t react. Callahan sighed softly from beside him, and on the other side, Punz grinned ferally, armour glistening in the light.

“Just take off the crown and we’ll be fine,” Dream warned, sword swaying in his fingers.

Eret shook his head, Adam’s apple bobbing. “No.”

Dream nodded, as if he’d expected that, and for a second George really thought he was going to impale Eret on his blade there and then, the body slumping forward onto Dream. But instead, he just sighed, shaking his head, before he gestured for Punz and Callahan to come forward.

“Escort him out.”

George watched, unmoving, as the two men pushed Eret forward. He stumbled, and as he did, Dream plucked the crown from the soft brown curls, running it in his hands as Eret scowled. He looked like he wanted to protest, but Punz was shoving him forward with the point of his sword. The glare Eret threw in George’s direction before the doors slammed behind him was enough to make his gut squeeze, a dark sickness settling in the pit of his body.

It was just him and Dream. “Congratulations,” the younger man said, holding out the crown on one finger towards George.

“ _What_?” It was the first proper thing he said. He’d almost forgotten what his own voice sounded like.

“It’s yours, George.” He blinked down at the crown in Dream’s hand, shaking his head instinctively. There was no way-he couldn’t-he was the King?

“But I-”

“But what?” Dream asked as he took a step towards him. “I promised it to you, didn’t I?”

George bit his bottom lip. “You want me to be King?” he asked incredulously, arching a brow as Dream took a small step towards him, like he was scared. Like they were teenagers again, and they were walking, fingers brushing as they pretended to not notice.

“I want you to be my everything, George,” Dream breathed, and George hadn’t noticed how close he’d gotten until he felt hot breath against his neck.

“I fucked up.” He drew his eyes along a tanned neck speckled with freckles, a jaw carved by the gods and finally a ceramic mask, chipped to reveal the tinniest sliver of a yellow eye, only visible if he squinted. He did, tilting his head as Dream spoke. As Dream softly placed the crown on his head, the heavy gold weighing down soft waves of brown.

“I fucked up, George,” he repeated, voice shuddering slightly when George nodded in agreement, a small smirk finding its way onto his lips. He’d always liked this part. Maybe it was sadistic of him, but he liked it when Dream would pledge himself to George. Inside his head, it always felt so one-sided, so impossible that Dream could possibly feel for George what he felt for him. But it was moments like this, as Dream grabbed onto George’s hands and held them close to his chest, that he understood.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I shouldn’t have left you or Sapnap like that. I was selfish, took the both of you for granted. I thought that- I should’ve realised I wasn’t the only one of us going through shit. I should’ve realised that if I had just spoken to you, maybe we could’ve helped each other and…” he trailed off as George’s hands drifted closer to his mask. “George, what are you-”

George shushed him, eyes flickering before his fingers latched under the mask, the other hand wandering towards the back of Dream’s head, where blond curled at the nape of his neck. He didn’t hesitate before he lightly tugged on the string, the mask falling into his other hand.

Dream blinked back at him.

No longer was he cast in light; a statue chiselled from marble. He was just a boy. Standing in front of him, clutching his own hands like he might crumble into nothing. He was just a boy, paling yellow eyes the colour of filigree in starlight. Scars he shouldn’t have slashed across his young face. Worries he shouldn’t have, pushing down on his shoulders, bones slowly cracking under the pressure. Hair that was getting long, grazing his ears.

George looked away from him, humming under his breath as he traced Dream’s mask. George didn’t know anything. He didn’t understand politics or wars or why people did the things they did, why they were forced to. But he understood how he felt about Dream. That was the last truth he held in himself.

“George,” Dream breathed, voice soft, scared. “I love you on purpose.”

He let Dream touch him, fingers barely making contact with his skin. “With every single part of me.” Rough skin grazed against his cheeks; George’s eyes fluttering shut as he leant into the warm touch. “And I don’t know what to do with it all, with everything in me that screams for you, every single fucking second.”

His eyes flashed open, fingers clutching the mask like an anchor.

“Give it all to me,” he replied. Dream’s breathing hitched, and George wondered if the other man would swallow his words. He didn’t. Instead, he bit his bottom lip, eyes flickering from George’s eyes to his nose to his throat to the crown on his head. Never to his lips.

After a moment of silence, Dream dropped to his knee. “What are you doing?” George asked, brows furrowing as he took a self-conscious step backwards. But Dream caught his hand, holding him in place as he looked up from under his eyelashes. He looked perfect. Firm fingers lightly squeezed George’s.

“Kneeling before my King.”

Punz appeared a moment later, knocking and sticking his head in the door. To his credit, he didn’t even flinch when he saw an unmasked Dream kneeling before George, hand in hand, blue eyes just sparkling in something like amusement, before he told Dream they had an hour.

The blond stood, his hand not leaving George’s, before he nodded towards Punz. He told him he’d be there before dismissing him, the door clicking behind the soldier, leaving the two of them alone again.

George’s eyes dropped to their joined hands. Dream must’ve noticed, because George heard him inhale sharply, before he made to untangle them. George didn’t let him, tightening his hold, intertwining their fingers properly.

“I need to put on my armour,” Dream said softly, as if it pained him to say.

“I’ll help you,” George replied. A soft smile crested his lips when the younger boy blinked down at him in surprise. And it didn't leave as he let Dream tentatively tug him out of the throne room and up a tight, winding staircase until they reached an airy room at the top of the tower.

George wondered when Dream had set all of this up; a mannequin with a set of untouched netherite armour was standing in the middle of the room. A wooden bed was pushed up against a window, blue sheets neat and pressed. A vase of yellow wildflowers sat on the windowsill, petals squirming in the wind.

He picked the breastplate off of the stand, grunting at the sheer weight of it before he turned to face the other man. Dream was watching him with curiosity, blinking feverously as George approached him.

His breathing hitched when George placed the armour onto him, strapping it tightly in place. He shuddered, head dropping. George didn’t say anything. Didn’t waste time comforting him, even if the younger’s nerves were making his heart crack slightly.

Instead, he made sure the armour was on properly. That was the priority. It was perfectly crafted, probably by Dream’s own hand. Not too heavy. Not too fucked yet. Worked well. He’d be able to run. He’d be able to survive this. He’d survive this.

“Stay alive. I don't- if you die-I couldn't....” George trailed off as he looked away from faded yellow eyes, scratching the back of his neck.

“Stay alive,” he repeated, looking down at George with a soft face. He thinks about just doing it, because Dream was right there, and he might not ever get this again. Never have him again. Just do it because if he died and he hadn’t, and if _George_ dies and he dies before he ever...he should just do it-

And then Dream kissed him.

He brushed his lips gently against George’s, hands resting below his ears. He froze, panic threatening to encompass him. But then Dream did the thing he’d done since they were seventeen, tilting his head to the side slightly, fingers under George’s jaw, and he lost it. He dug his fingers into Dream’s hair, the other man’s lips now at his neck, leaving trails of dying embers wherever they met skin. Dream’s arms seized his waist, and George had forgotten how strong he was, how strong they were, how he needed this all the time, needed it urgently, needed it more than air. Even as Dream’s armour dug into him, the crown precariously perched on his head slipping, they breathed each other, swallowing each other over and over and over again.

It was over too quickly, Dream pulling back with a feral desire that matched George’s written on his face.

But George couldn’t speak or move or think. Was this worse? Than not speaking, not touching waves spun from gold, not feeling skin against his own. Not feeling calloused lips against his, taking and taking and taking. Was it worse to drown, air slowly being choked from your throat as you clawed? Or was it worse to die of thirst, surrounded by the screaming seas?

Dream pulled back, but his hand stayed on George’s neck.

“George-” he started, when there was a harsh, sharp, familiar knock from behind them.

“Dream.” It was Sapnap. “We need to go. Like now. Actually, like ten minutes ago.”

George balked, back straightening as it hit the wall. Dream looked at him, eyes wide and filled with every single word that was on the tip of his tongue. George just watched, hoping Dream could read his eyes too, just like he could read his.

There was another knock against the door, softer than the last. “I’ll see you when we get back, Georgie,” Sapnap’s voice whispered through the door. Tears gathered in George’s throat, and although he opened his mouth to reply, nothing left.

Dream gave him one last look before he placed his mask over his face, rolling his shoulders back before he left. Sliver of yellow fabric was the last thing George saw. The door clicked shut behind him, steps against stone fading. He didn't say anything. And he didn’t look back.

George dropped to the floor once he was sure they were gone, curling in on himself. The crown weighed heavily on his head, but he didn't take it off. Didn't dare touch it. The cold stone under him was surprisingly soothing. He spread his hands against the cool ground.

He would be fine. They’d both be fine. They’d all be fine.

“I love you too,” George breathed to himself, hands wrapping themselves around his own chest. “Every day and on purpose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merci for all the support guys <3


	27. Rattle and Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And therefore those skilled in war bring the enemy to the field of battle and are not brought there by him."
> 
> The war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the epic version of the Star Wars soundtrack was just on loop as I wrote this boys saddle up its a long one

Tommy was getting real fucking sick of running.

He didn’t remember it being this annoying before he fucked up his leg, but now it was the goddamn worst. His breathing was heavy as he sprinted. The stiff air didn’t help, and every time Tommy took a shaky breath in, his chest seized with a painful coldness.

Will was in front of him, arms over his head as a hailstorm of arrows descended on them. Fucking Schlatt. Tommy spared a glance over his shoulder, scowling under his crappy iron helmet as another arrow ricocheted off of his armour. Schlatt was standing at the top of the tower, bow in hand as he fired shot after shot after shot at the two men.

A man in green was beside him, his own shots more accurate than that of the fucking psychopath leaning over the tower and yelling slurred insults at Wilbur. Dream’s green sweatshirt was covered by his own armour, but unlike Tommy’s, which was chipped and scraped and bent, Dream’s looked immaculate. Like it had been crafted by the fucking gods for their soldier to bring about the end of days.

A chain of colourful curses left Tommy’s lips when he watched Dream hand Schlatt a burning arrow. And even from here, he could see the manic look in the tyrant’s eyes. He heard the arrow hit bark just as he followed Wilbur into the safety of the woods. It was almost like the branches moved, crisscrossing themselves behind Will and Tommy. So instead of meeting their backs, the flaming arrows hit the trees instead. Sacrificial firewood.

It had only been an hour since the first strike; Dream’s sword cracking into Wilbur’s shield, wood splintering like tears. But Tommy could already smell the scent of war. He recognised it instantly, almost leaned into it with open arms. It was horrible, the way he so easily slipped into it, sword rolling in his wrists as he bared his teeth, blade meeting flesh. It was horrible, but it also felt like coming home. Like some sort of fucked up hug.

He followed Wilbur in silence, realising for the first time ever he had nothing to say to his brother. Silence bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood. It coated his tongue with a bitter taste, and even as his nose crinkled, trying to swallow away the taste, it wouldn’t leave.

Rubbing at his arm, Tommy hissed under his breath when he noticed a small wound. It wasn’t deep, and it didn’t even really hurt. But knowing they’d barely even started and here he was, bleeding out in the woods, while Schlatt sat up in a fucking tower with Dream by his side, was infuriating.

Tommy blinked up when he realised Will was staring down at him. His expression was unrecognisable, dark brows furrowed as his eyes trailed over Tommy’s face. He opened his mouth to speak, to try anything to drag his brother back from the hollow man who’d possessed him. Because this wasn’t Wilbur, not his Wilbur: not the Wilbur who sang and jumped over waves on rocky beaches and the Wilbur who laughed too easily at shitty jokes Tommy made. 

This was the Wilbur from the nightmares that choked Tommy out. This was the saturated Wilbur with pale eyes and bags tattooed under his eyes and lies dripping from his lips like blood. The Wilbur that made Tommy want to wake up more than anything.

But before he could do anything, Will was already walking again, towards the sound of voices overlapping each other.

“Tommy, what the hell is going on?” Quackity was the first to speak once Tommy stumbled out of the woods, almost tripping up on his own boots. He tried to answer as he followed Will, watching as the man pulled his beanie further over his head, pushing down messy locks of hair, but nothing came out as everyone crowded around.

He wasn’t used to seeing everyone in one place like this. It was unsettling, being out of the caves, with them all. Past enemies, possible traitors, betrayers, brothers.

“Where the hell have you been?” Techno snarled, low voice dripping in annoyance. His eyes only narrowed even more when he noticed the shallow gash on Tommy’s shoulder, shirt damp with blood.

“Give me your arm,” Techno demanded, but his voice was already being swallowed up by the garble of voices around him. He couldn’t concentrate on them all at the same time, throat closing up. The familiar panic sparked in a cluster at his abdomen, mind screaming at him to run, primal instinct to flee eating up at him.

_Fucking breathe, you idiot._

Tommy didn’t notice the worried glance Niki sent in his direction as she joined beside Fundy, grey eyes sharing a look with brown as the two spoke wordlessly. Wilbur came up beside him, balancing an arm on his shoulder obnoxiously as he looked to Techno, with a sympathetic look. Well, relatively speaking. As sympathetic as Will could get nowadays, Tommy supposed.

“Schlatt’s a cock,” the older man said with a sigh, as if that explained why they’d been late to the meeting. It had been hard enough to organise it, since none of them could trust each other. Not after what Dream had said. And so, Tommy had figured word of mouth would be the simplest way.

_“The lake,” Tommy whispered into Tubbo’s ear, passing him as he went to wash his bowl. Soup still coated the rim as he plunged it into the cold water. He felt a tentative pair of eyes on his neck, but when he glanced over his shoulder, blond hair falling in his eyes, his friend was gone._

_Tubbo found Quackity near the borders of Manberg, leaning against a tree as he watched the lights of the city flicker on one by one. Like stars amongst an endless darkness, the light seemed to mock the two boys. Quackity eventually dragged his solemn gaze from the doomed city to the other boy. “We’re meeting at the lake,” Tubbo told him. He saw the question on Quackity’s face, the question he’d been trying to ignore himself every time he saw blue eyes and a wide, toothy smile that belonged to the one person he would have sworn his life to. Now, he wasn’t so sure who to trust._

_Fundy found Niki training in the forest. Her hair spun around her like a halo as she dipped down, sword clashing against Eret’s chest. A satchel hung on a spindly branch near them, a hint of gold squinting out at Fundy through the gap in the bag. Eret’s head was clean of it as he fell to the ground, Niki’s blade pointed triumphantly at his throat. Fundy’s back straightened when two pairs of eyes fell onto him._

_“Around midday.” Niki murmured to Technoblade, as he fitted her with armour that he’d mysteriously found. She’d learned to not question the man who favoured the silence more than anything. “At the lake.” She wouldn’t have been able to tell Techno had even heard her if his hands hadn’t hesitated on her sides, red eyes trained harshly on the armour. A tight nod was all she received._

Tommy didn’t know who had told Wilbur. Maybe no one had, and it was a complete coincidence that on his way out of Pogtopia, Wil had appeared in the cavern, waiting by the door. Not a weapon in sight, nor any armour. Just his pale, calloused hands and his long, tattered coat.

“Agreed,” Fundy sighed, the mention of Schlatt casting a shadow across them all.

Will’s voice cut through the air. “We should probably blow him up.”

A gargle of protests broke out instantly, and Tommy couldn’t stop himself from shrinking back slightly. He did it before he realised, and as everyone shouted at Will, he rolled his shoulders back and pushed out the intrusive thoughts threatening to seize his mind.

Not explosives, Fundy warned at the same time Niki nodded, “We don’t have to do that, Will.” Out of them all, bar whatever the fuck Techno was, Tommy reckoned Niki looked the most threatening. Her hair had been choppily cut to her collarbones, as if done by a sword. Gone was the limp honeyed hair, replaced by a stark dark and white braid, making her look almost otherworldly. She was dressed in her leathers, knives strapped in next to her legs. The metal glinted in the sunlight, sending running beams of light across the lake beside them.

Her lips were painted a dark red. As if she had ripped out the throats of their enemies. And painted herself in their blood. Grey eyes, like smoke under glass, were narrowed in concentration, specifically at Will, as he threw her a lazy smirk, arm still balancing on Tommy.

“Would you _please_ give me your arm?” Techno sighed with exasperation, reaching out to pull Tommy away from Will, but the younger boy ducked out of his way, clapping his hands as he went to address his friends. His family. His army.

He clambered up onto a rock kissed with moss from the lake, the sun behind him as he looked out to everyone. “Alright, we’re all here together now,” he said, as they all looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “All of us together. Dream isn’t fighting with passion; he’s fighting for the sake of fighting. We can reclaim L’Manberg as our own. This is our chance.”

Silence followed. Tommy’s stomach clenched. Well, that wasn’t really the reaction he was going for there. The words didn’t seem to rally anyone, as all his friends were blinking up at him with awkward expressions.

Technoblade was still trying to grip onto Tommy’s arm, ripping up a bandage with his sharp canines as he tried to grab onto him from down below. Tommy shot him a look of annoyance before he kicked at his brother’s hand. Techno, albeit clearly irritated, took a begrudging step back. Will was smirking, as if he could hear L’Manberg already exploding, whispering something in Techno’s ear as he clamped a hand on their older brother.

Quackity was the first to speak, stepping from his place beside Tubbo to be in front of Tommy. He cast a sideways glance around, brows lowering as he gulped. Scratching the back of his neck, he spoke in a weary whisper. “Tommy, we need to consider that one of us is a traitor. One of us is going to stab us in the back here.”

Even though he tried to say it with discretion, immediate protests broke out. Tommy watched as Quackity shrunk into himself at the outburst, back hitting the boulder as Niki frowned, shaking her head. Her hair cut against her collarbones like a sheet of silk.

“Are we sure though?” she asked, and although her voice was still painted in the familiar kindness it always was, Tommy didn’t miss the bite to her words as she stood before Quackity, grey eyes dropping over him as she tilted her head up. A scowl made its way onto Quackity’s lips as he straightened up, clearly picking up on the insinuation on Niki’s face.

Fuck, they were almost on the verge of infighting already. Before they’d even fought Schlatt and Dream. Tension crossed from Niki’s eyes to Quackity’s as they glared at each other. Technoblade’s crimson eyes kept shifting to Fundy and fucking everyone was suspicious of Wilbur. Maybe if he would just stop _admitting_ to wanting to blow the whole thing to shit. There was only so many times Tommy could protect his brother from other people’s suspicions here.

Before anything could properly kick off, he spoke. His voice came out less strong than he intended, cringing at the waver. “Dream’s lying,” he said, fingers digging into his palms. Quackity tore his gaze away from Niki, looking up at Tommy with an unconvinced frown.

“I trust everyone here,” Tommy breathed. “With my life.”

Quackity, who had shed the blazer and tie for a tatty blue jumper and a craving for vengeance. Techno, who seemed like he was keeping a tether on his thirst for blood and destruction, for their sakes. Will, who while slightly fucking unhinged, wouldn’t ever hurt any of them. Fundy, who had sacrificed himself to Schlatt for months, keeping them safe while he let himself break. Niki, who stood with her head held high, no matter how many times she was slapped down onto her knees.

Tommy’s eyes landed on Tubbo; the sliver of red tied loosely around the other boy’s neck. His own green fabric was tied around his wrist, a steady hold across his veins.

As Tommy smiled, taking a steady breath in, his eyes fell on someone he hadn’t noticed in all the commotion. Brown curls accompanied by a tentative smile. Tommy almost fucking lost it.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” he yelled, unsheathing his sword with a snarl as he leapt down from the rock, trying to rush towards Eret. The man stumbled backwards, and Tommy grinned, tongue scraping across his teeth as he pointed the blade at the man’s chest.

Before he could stab the fucking bastard, Niki and Fundy stood in front of him, hands out after they lightly pushed Eret behind them. The traitor smiled softly as he looked from Fundy and Niki, before stepping even further back when Tommy barked out a noise of disbelief. He didn’t move his sword. The blade stayed trained on where Eret’s heart should be.

“No,” Fundy cried out, auburn locks falling into his face as he shook his head. “Dream has taken everything from Eret.” Tommy narrowed his eyes. Likely fucking story.

Niki’s face softened as she took a step towards Tommy, hands still outstretched like she was approaching a wild animal. “He’s on our side.”

Before Tommy could protest, before he could shout out that this whole situation had fucking happened already, and that it was because of _Eret_ , that he had to give up his fucking discs to Dream, the man himself spoke.

“He removed my kingship.” Tommy had forgotten how low the man’s voice was, especially as Eret spoke with a surprising sincerity. He could be faking it. Could be lying. He had lied before. What would stop him from lying again?

A hundred different eyes blinked down onto Tommy. His lips parted as each pair of eyes all widened at him, surrounding him and whispering in his ears. He stumbled backwards, the ground beneath him disappearing slowly, the soil crumbling away. _They’re all lying._

“They’re not,” he shouted back at the voices, hands gripping his ears tightly. _They’re all lying to you. They think it’s you. Tubbo thinks its you. None of them trust you. None of them think you should be their leader. Why you? You’re just a child. Not a leader like Wilbur. Not a warrior like Techno. You are nothing like your brothers._

Before he could scream out, the words wrapping themselves around his throat and tugging, a hand dropped onto his shoulder. Tommy was dragged out of his own mind by the solid touch. His hands weren’t digging into his own skin, but still holding the sword aimed at Eret. There were no eyes around him, even as he glanced over his shoulder to make sure. The voices were gone.

He lowered the sword with a shaky hand, trying to calm his wavering breathing. “He-what why did he do that?” Will asked, even if he was looking off into the distance as he bit his lip in thought, ignoring Eret as he stood beside Niki and Fundy.

“Because I chose to see what was right over loyalty to Dream,” Eret said, and Tommy rolled his eyes when Niki squeezed his hand.

“He took it all by force, didn’t he?” Eret glared at Techno, who was leaning against a tree and sharpening his sword with a rock, clearly uninterested in the conversation.

“Well, I was-” Eret was cut off by an arrow whirring past him. It grazed the bridge of his nose with its metal tail. A single drop of blood ran down his nose.

Silence cut through the air as the group watched the fat red drop splat onto Eret’s boot.

Next it was a blade as Dream appeared from the trees.

Pandemonium broke out.

Quackity, who was closest to the blond man, screamed as a netherite blade met his shoulder. Dream didn’t focus on him though, didn’t stop and finish him off. He just tilted his head when Quackity dropped to his knees, hand frantically holding onto his other shoulder, tears of raw agony fell down his face.

And then Dream lurched forward, more animal than human with his bared teeth like his bared sword. Tommy ran. Towards Quackity as he howled, or towards Dream as he danced with the bedlam, he wasn’t sure. He was just sure of the screaming urge to see something bleed.

He tried to catch the man off guard, as Dream advanced towards Eret, sword rolling in his wrist. His tongue dashed out to lick at his bottom lip, almost purring as Eret scrambled backwards in pure terror. Tommy ran faster when Niki slid forward on the muddied ground, sword out to defend Eret. Dream snorted but didn’t pause.

Tommy leapt up, feet pushing off the ground as he brought his own blade over his head. Dream turned instantly, as if he could feel Tommy’s presence. A shout of wrath left Tommy’s lips as his sword fell.

And armour clanked as Dream brought his sword down to meet Tommy’s.

Feet back on the ground, shouts of panic and words that meant nothing, screamed in his ear as Dream’s sword pressed against Tommy’s. Instinct kicked in; Tommy’s feral, ruthless need to survive. He had been raised for this his whole life.

Fighting for food, heat, shelter as a child in his old village. Fighting monsters, back-to-back with Tubbo, holding only a wooden axe against the rotten teeth and sharp claws that threatened him and his friend every night. The revolution, fight after fight, fingers gaining callouses and back gaining deep scars.

Scars Dream had given him.

Scars he would return.

“You’re fighting a losing battle, Tommy,” Dream laughed as Tommy rolled to the side to escape the pressing weight, back streaked with dirt before he jumped back onto his feet. Metal scratched against metal.

Tommy glanced around, watching as Techno pushed back against Punz with a wide grin on his face, pink hair whipping against his face in the wind. “You think you can beat me?” Dream asked, cocking his head. Unlike Punz, Dream wasn’t wearing a helmet, just that fucking mask. His hair was free from the usual green hood, the colour the same as Tommy’s.

His sword lurched forward, and Tommy barely managed to escape the attack. “You can’t beat me, Tommy,” Dream murmured as he easily batted away Tommy’s own attacks. He pushed the younger boy back, Tommy having to check behind him before he stumbled. He tried one last offence, trying to drive his blade up into the gap in Dream’s armour, but the older man brought his foot up, kicking Tommy’s sword out of his grasp.

“You’re playing with fire,” Dream snarled, and for a second the man in front of him morphed into a man with raven black hair that fell to his jaw, eyes burning ablaze with a cruel smirk as he drew his blade back, painted in blood. His horse’s blood. Henry’s blood. The same blood dripped down his jaw, and the man licked it off with his tongue. Then he spat it back onto Tommy, a wet fat drop of red landing on his cheek.

But then Dream laughed, and Sapnap disappeared. He reached up to his own face, but there was nothing there but his own sweat. Panic rose in his throat as Dream chortled, a low, gravelly sound that echoed across Tommy’s bones.

Before Dream could impale him on his sword, a strong hand was smashing a hilt into his skull, and the blond man fell to the ground with a thud, more in surprise than anything. Then something strong wrapped itself around Tommy’s waist, and he was suddenly above the ground.

“What the fuck?” he shouted as Technoblade set off in a sprint, Tommy jostling in his arm. “What the fuck, you psychopath!” Tommy protested, shoving at the older man as he kept running, each step sending Tommy into the air. Blood was swiped across the side of Techno’s face, but he didn’t seem to be bleeding from anywhere.

Tommy spared a glance behind them, and he found himself instinctively gripping onto Techno’s arm as he met Dream’s eyes. The man hadn’t moved from where he was on the ground, sword still pointing in Tommy’s direction as blood dripped down Dream’s head onto his ear.

“I almost had him,” Tommy said, even though they both knew that was a blatant lie. Techno didn’t even point it out, just snorted and gestured forward with his arm that _wasn’t_ holding Tommy. He followed the direction of the pointed finger to see his family all huddled together in the distance, sharp figures against the grey, inky sky. Fundy and Eret were holding Quackity up in between them, arms around his waist as they shared a look of concern. Even from where he was, Tommy could see how pale his friend looked, how his body seemed to be failing him, heavy as he was held up.

Tubbo rushed over when Techno and Tommy reached them, Tommy practically shoving his older brother off of him, feet dropping down onto solid ground. Cold fingers met his shoulders as Tubbo quickly checked him over. Tommy smiled softly placing his own hands on top of Tubbo’s in what he hoped was comfort. His friend looked like he wanted to speak, dark eyes widening, but was cut off by a groan from Quackity as Niki winced. Her hands were pressed against his shoulders, blood pooling in-between her fingers.

“We need to go somewhere,” Fundy said as Quackity’s head fell onto his shoulder, eyes rolling back into his head. “We need to get out of the open, pool our resources.”

“What _resources_?” Will remarked with a snort. “We have fuck all.” Everyone seemed to ignore him, given that seemed to be the new default for dealing with Wilbur’s shit, but no one objected. The truth of what he said settled in the air, dripped down their skin like slick rain, nestled horribly in their chests.

Wilbur sent an amused side glance in Tommy’s direction as the boy stood, helpless. Helpless as Quackity seemed to slip in and out of consciousness, eyes rolling into the back of his head. Helpless as Eret almost crumbled under his weight as Fundy helped Niki, the two of them pouring what Tommy knew was all of their potions onto the torn shoulder. It was a messy injury, flesh torn and split at awkward angles, and Tommy didn’t doubt Dream made it as painful and as hard to heal as possible.

Helpless as Tubbo squeezed his hand, the other boy’s fingers trembling.

“I may have a solution.” Everyone paused when Techno awkwardly stepped forward, shifting on his feet. “To this…” he trailed off, Niki’s eyes narrowing when he gestured to Quackity, carping in pain. “Issue?”

“Really?” Tommy asked, stepping forward. A glimmer of hope sparked in his chest, sending warmth through his body. He returned Tubbo’s squeeze, lacing his fingers into the other boy’s. Tommy doesn’t even miss the desperation in his own voice, the plead as he locks onto red eyes. And Techno must not either, because although he looks like he wants to say anything but yes, he nods.

Tommy let go of a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “Follow me,” Techno muttered under his breath, voice low and slightly annoyed, before he walked past Quackity and the three people desperately trying to aid him. He didn’t offer his assistance, just casually picked up _all_ of their equipment, shoving it on his shoulders.

Tommy hesitated, watching as Techno, now with three bags of provisions, two bows and five swords strapped to himself started striding forward. Will walked beside him, leaning his arm on the warrior’s shoulder until Techno swiped Will’s legs from beneath him. Wilbur didn’t catch up, deciding to stay a step behind. Eret and Fundy followed behind, sharing Quackity’s weight as Niki stayed to their side, never taking her eyes off the wounded man.

Fingers intertwined in his own fell from his shoulder, and Tommy let his feet move when Tubbo tugged. He didn't know what it was, when he let Tubbo lead him after their friends, a small smile aimed at him, like they were sharing a secret between them. It was like all the worry in his body faded away, replaced with little, elfin stars that blinked in his veins.

They walked like that for what could’ve been minutes or hours, and Tommy wouldn’t have known either way, because he spent the whole journey watching the hanging clouds pass in the sky, wondering what it was that kept them up there. Wondering what it was that stopped them from falling on top of him, suffocating him with that heavy lightness.

He kept his eyes on the clouds, because if he let them wander, his thoughts would become too loud again. He would think about where Technoblade was leading them too. If Dream was here, watching them, like he always was. Watching Tommy, like he always was. If Quackity was going to make it, or if he was going to die from blood loss in the middle of a country plain.

He just concentrated on the weight of Tubbo’s hand in his. It replaced the missing weight of his blade.

Feet heavy on the soft grass, Tommy would’ve kept walking if it wasn’t for that hand pulling him back. The same hand that always pulled him back. Same hand that had saved him, saved his life for sixteen years.

Tommy stopped walking when Tubbo did. He sent another glance over Quackity, who seemed to have regained consciousness, probably due to the potions from Niki and Fundy. His eyes were wide as he watched Technoblade kick his heel into the ground, dirt crumbling away to reveal a hidden tunnel.

“Alright,” Technoblade said as he quickly glanced around them to make sure no one was following them. Tommy also scanned around, but all that surrounded them was an army of wheat, swaying softly in their song of the wind. “Injured and children first,” he said, raising a brow at Tommy until he soberly took Quackity from Eret and Fundy with Tubbo, and together, the three of them descended.

Colourful curses left Tommy’s breath in a string as they dropped into a cavern, chests on chests piled up at the side. There was another room with an enchanting table, surrounded with more books than Tommy had ever seen in his life. He tightened his hold around Quackity as the three boys shared a look. The same shit-eating grin was plastered on all three of their faces.

“Looks like we have the shit to patch you up with now, Big Q,” Tommy grinned, slightly breathless with surprise.

The rest followed, and even Wilbur’s had something other than antagonistic amusement plastered on his face for once. They all spread out instantly, everyone speaking over each other as they rifled through the chests.

“Anyone got arrows?” Fundy asked, grinning when Eret tossed him a handful from the chest he was going for. “Healing potions are in here?” Niki questioned as she rushed into the enchanting room, a squeal of joy leaving her when she presumedly found them.

Tommy turned, still holding Quackity up with Tubbo, when Technoblade dropped down into the cavern. When he saw the scene unfolding in front of him, he let out a strangled scream, his hand tightening on the ring of the ladder so hard, Tommy wouldn’t have been surprised if it had snapped.

“Stop going through my stuff, wait,” he protested. No one listened to him. Niki was pouring more potions over Quackity and practically shoving them down his throat, so rushed that some of the sparkling liquid splattered onto Tommy’s cheek. Will was flicking through the enchanting books, sitting cross-legged on the table. Fundy and Eret were still pulling everything in the chests, out of the chests.

“Those are my things,” Techno groaned awkwardly before he pulled Wilbur off the table by the collar, the other man scowling as the book he was reading fell from his fingers. “ _Your_ resources are down here.”

Tommy felt a familiar sense of dread as he followed Technoblade, handing Quackity over to Tubbo and Niki.

The ladder opened up to a massive room of black brick. Lanterns of blue hung at different lengths from the ceiling. Rows and rows and rows of chests, all organised, stacked on top of each other. Glow stone was in the floor, sending light spiralling across Tommy’s crappy boots as he dropped onto the floor.

_Torches had been hung up every couple of feet, soft, golden light casting their shadows against the wall, walking as they walked. “Look at us go,” he muttered in astonishment as they made their way further and further, shaking his head in disbelief._

Technoblade grinned at him, spinning his trident in his fingers. The blue light made the golden earrings that were stabbed into Techno’s ears look like they were glowing. Seven armour stands stood at the end of the hall, perfect sets of netherite glowing, ready for them to take.

_His curiosity only grew as they came to a hollowed-out room, dark stone covering the walls and floors. Their footsteps changed from soft padding to knocks against the dark material. Tommy slowly turned as his eyes ran over all the chests, one for each man. “This is the final control room,” Eret told them as he stood in the middle, watching as the rest of them fanned out._

Tommy stood there, watching, as everyone yelled in utter glee. Technoblade didn’t protest this time, just stood beside Tommy, watching with pride as everyone grabbed what they needed. Even Quackity was trying on the armour, clicking a chest piece over his fucked shoulder.

_As the others took to opening the chests, Tommy’s bright eyes fell on a small wooden button in the middle of the room, right on the floor. “This chest is empty,” he heard Will say, voice starting to lace with suspicion. But before Wilbur could question Eret, Tommy was already bending down, arms reaching out for the button before Eret could tell him to not._

He blinked, throat bobbing painfully, when Technoblade nudged him gently. “Take whatever you need, Tommy,” he told him. “For the revolution, right?”

Tommy nodded, ignoring Eret as he tried out the diamond swords with Niki. “For the revolution,” he murmured before he took another step forward. There was only one set of armour left, as everyone around him passed by in a blurry haze of excitement. Tommy stopped in front of it, armour cool under his touch as he picked up the heavy helm.

The helm slotted over his head perfectly, flattening down matted blond hair. He turned, watched as Niki passed around golden arrows, nocking one into a new crossbow. As Tubbo held two swords in his hands, eyes flicking between the two before he strapped them both across his back. As Wilbur went around handing out blue dye, the amusement back on his face.

Tommy moved silently, the hum of everyone else’s voices hitting off his new armour. He picked up enough arrows for himself, a shield that wasn’t too heavy and a new sword. To replace the one Dream had sent flying.

The fresh air was welcoming once they’d left Techno’s secret base. Tommy was still shaking under his armour, under the weight of all the weapons, under the weight of everything that was on the line. They had fought for their home before, and they had won before. They would fight for their home again, and they would win again.

Wilbur walked beside him as they marched towards L’Manberg. He was the only one of them not wearing armour. Niki had pleaded with him, Tommy had overheard.

_“Will,” she practically begged, fingers clutching Will’s coat. “Please.”_

_“Niki,” Will had grinned, eyes crazed. Like they didn’t belong to him. “When have I ever needed armour?”_

The older man walked easily without it, almost skipping with a childlike elation. Tommy leaned forward, gripping onto Wilbur’s hand with the netherite gauntlet over his own fingers.

“Wilbur, let’s take this back,” he said, licking his dry bottom lip.

“Tommy,” Will smiled, condescending look on his face. “You know the rules. If we fail, I blow it up.” He pulled his hand away from Tommy’s, letting the teenager’s arm fall back to his side. Tubbo sent Tommy a sympathetic glance before he turned to Wilbur. “We’re not going to fail.”

“Yeah, well that’s what Tommy said about the election, and look where we are,” Will rolled his eyes as he gave a huff of cruel amusement. The accusation sent fury down Tommy’s back as he pushed back Will, pushed past them all as he led forward, fingers clutching his sword.

“Let’s not fucking fail then.”

They walked across the old train line Tommy had built to connect Pogtopia and L’Manberg. In front of them, the sun was setting. As if someone had cut through the strings that had been holding it up, it fell through the sky, leaving behind streaks of colour with the clouds.

L’Manberg came up on the horizon, the familiar buildings stark against the orange sky streaked with salmon. Tommy broke out into a run, the sight of his home enough to regenerate a surge of energy he hadn’t felt in almost a year. They were so close. He was so close.

And then an arrow hit him. It snapped against his armour, falling to his feet. His head snapped towards where it had come from. Schlatt and Dream stood on the tower, just like they had that very same morning, bows taunt as they shot at Tommy. He brought his shield up, arrows hitting off the surface, before he let a war scream fall from his lips, sword pointing up, right at Schlatt’s heart.

“Take the tower,” he ordered as Tubbo joined his side, sword unsheathing with a snarl.

Arrows started raining from either side as Eret and Fundy pulled their bows from over their heads. “We can’t get range!” Fundy shouted over the noise. “They’re too high up.”

“Keep shooting. The rest of you, space out,” Tommy told them, before he gestured for Tubbo and Techno to follow him. “We can’t let them leave this tower.”

It was cumbersome to climb with the heavy armour that tried to drag him back to the ground. But Tommy ploughed on, feet steady on the wooden rings as Tubbo and Techno followed him. His sword in one hand, he pulled himself up with the other, breath a steady rasp in his throat as he reached the top.

He locked his eyes on Schlatt, sword ready and begging for blood as he pushed forward. His boots against the stone floor however, was a clear giveaway, and a man he didn’t recognise appeared in front of him, swords clashing.

Dream spun at the sound, clicking his tongue at Tommy with a condescending shake of the head. And then, just as Tubbo and Techno appeared, Dream gripped onto Schlatt. The president turned around in confusion, meeting Tommy’s eyes with a start.

Tommy snarled, fighting back the unfamiliar guard with more viciousness, so he could get to Dream and Schlatt. The guard stumbled back as Tommy slashed and slashed and slashed, sword steady in his hands. Like an extension of the boy himself as he moved, pushing the young guard back until he stumbled.

His lips pulled back into a snarl as the man fell to the ground with a yelp, his helm falling to reveal a terrified face, brown eyes wide with terror. Tommy wondered if he’d been forced to do this, forced to protect Schlatt by his circumstances. Or if he’d signed up to be in this war. Tommy wondered, as he moved his arm back, ready to bring his sword down, if he cared why the man was here. Just that he wasn’t on his side.

“They’re gone!” Tubbo shouted. Tommy turned, blade falling to his side instead of into the young man’s throat. “What?” Tommy barked out, glancing around. They’d been right there. How could they have fucking disappeared? His panic threatened to dig a ditch around him, to plunge him into darkness, drag him down kicking and screaming. But his nerve; that plucky, scrappy piece of tatted courage that always seemed to shine brighter than anything, that courage that Dream, Schlatt, fucking everyone had tried to stamp out to no avail. That pulled him out.

He flexed his fingers around his blade. “They got out somehow,” Tubbo frowned, kicking at the wall in anger.

“We need to hold the tower,” Tommy said, biting the inside of his cheek until it hurt too much to continue. Tubbo just nodded in agreement, looking out in the distance. Tommy noticed the gathering of men down below before Tubbo did. “Careful!” he shouted in warning, just in time for Tubbo to duck from an oncoming arrow.

“How the fuck did they get down there?” Tommy snarled as he hid behind a pillar, watching as Tubbo did the same, both of them safe from the onslaught of arrows from Dream and his goons below.

He glanced to the floor, but the young guard had vanished without a trace. Technoblade had also disappeared, probably to aid Wilbur and Niki. Tommy bit down on his lip before he rushed forward, keeping his head low. He didn’t need to speak for Tubbo to follow him, the two teenagers moving silently. Their friends were on the lower floor of the tower, they could hold it. They were strong. Stronger than anyone Tommy had ever met. He trusted them with his life, with L’Manberg.

Peering over the railing, Tommy noted Sapnap and Punz flanking Dream with their own crossbows, almost every shot hitting their marks as Niki and Fundy shouted orders from below. A river stood near the battle, water rushing towards the harbour, towards the sea. They needed the element of surprise. They had a hold of the tower, but Tommy didn’t doubt Dream was trying to take it back. And Tommy didn’t doubt in a matter of minutes Dream would’ve stormed them. They needed to catch them off guard.

“Reckon we can make it?” Tommy asked as he turned to Tubbo, blue eyes glimmering. Emotion clutched his stomach as Tubbo gripped onto his hands, a horrible mix of pride and terror and blatant, blind hope.

“Reckon we can,” Tubbo breathed, teeth shining in the reflection of his armour.

Time seemed to slow as the two boys ripped the armour off of each other in silence. Understanding passed between them as fingers brushed against fingers. It was a risk. A risk they wouldn’t be allowed to take if any of their friends were here with them. But they weren’t here. Niki wasn’t here to hold them back. Techno wasn’t here to offer another solution. Wilbur wasn’t here, not like last time. They couldn’t follow his orders.

It was just them.

They moved away from the railing, away from the abandoned armour on the floor. Tommy shivered, the wind cold against his thin shirt. He glanced to the side, a tight nod from Tubbo before they grabbed each other’s hands. And then they were running, feet pounding against the stone floor.

Hands reaching out for the railing, legs swinging over into the completely open expanse.

And then they fell.

The two boys were falling through the air, hair pushed back by the wind as it desperately tried to grab onto either of them. It tried to latch onto their fingers, their ankles, their elbows as they free fell. Everything was so loud as Tommy screwed his eyes shut, the only weight the blade on his back, and the hand squeezed tightly in his own. Sounds of burning arrows meeting flesh, screams of panic and of wrath, sounds of his own nightmares coming to fruition. Smells of charred wood, of metal swirling in red, of upturned dirt smeared across sweat.

All of those things died when Tommy hit the water.

Silence sung.

His body seized up at the pure ice that washed over him. It would’ve been easy to let it drag him down, even without his armour, he still had his sword, and it was pleading the waters to pull it down to the bottom where it could rest for the rest of its day. To pull Tommy down with it.

It would’ve been easy.

Tommy didn’t believe in easy.

He kicked his legs, arms moving as he swam to the surface. He moved through the glacial waters, taking a massive gulp of air when he broke through. Shaking out his soaking hair, he grinned when a loud gasp sounded from beside him.

Tubbo laughed breathlessly back at him, drops of water weighing down his brown hair. “Come on,” Tommy said, ignoring the way his teeth chattered. “Let’s finish this.”

The other boy followed, both of them holding their swords above the water as they swam, then waded, then burst from the riverbanks. Water trailed them as they sprinted around the sides, skirting until they were behind Dream and his soldiers.

In a second, Tubbo was on the young guard from before, pounding the hilt of his sword into the young man’s skull. He fell, Tubbo on top of him, with a sickening thud. A shout of protest followed, and Tommy watched as Sapnap turned, an axe swinging for Tubbo’s neck. But Tubbo bent backwards, kicking his legs up in an attempt to disarm Sapnap. The older man just snarled, dark eyes dripping with a blackness Tommy hadn’t seen in years.

Before he could run to Tubbo, before he could try and help his friend, Ponk was on him, netherite sword sharp and ready. Tommy grinned, dodging the attacks with ease. It was like something overcame him, like some demon had slipped into his body and was pulling the strings, because Tommy had never fought this well before.

But here he was, standing completely alone bar Tubbo, surrounded by Schlatt’s army, as the two of them fought back, tooth and nail. Like the two of them alone were their own army. An army sent from the heavens to win their home back. Here he was, dripping wet, hair heavy with water, as he moved like he weighed nothing. Here he was, no armour, nothing but the sword in his hands, and yet Ponk cried out with pain as Tommy stabbed the blade through the crack in the man’s armour, right in between his ribs.

He fell to his knees with a croak, and Tommy’s sword came back smeared with blood. Someone called his name, and someone else called Tubbo’s, but they didn’t stop. Tommy ran to his friend when Ponk’s back hit the ground, boots pooling with water, and the two of them took on Sapnap together.

Tommy gritted his teeth together, sword twitching in his fingers to the beat of the screaming wind around them. Sapnap’s axe met his sword, but the older man was stronger, and Tommy’s sword ached under the weight, threatening to snap. Tubbo pushed Sapnap back with a growl, his sword slicing into the back of the man’s legs.

Spinning, dark hair falling out of the bun it had been pushed up into, Sapnap’s jaw clenched and unclenched in pain. As he fought Sapnap with Tubbo, the words of allyship and possible friendship died in the air, shrivelled up and burned.

Peering over the top of Sapnap’s head as Tubbo locked the man in a bout, Tommy noticed Techno fighting Dream. It was intense, as the two most powerful soldiers slashed at each other ruthlessly. Like their own little dance, fuelled by blood, as Dream locked Techno’s trident in place with his blade. Pink hair almost turned crimson and blond hair that was matted with sweat and dirt. A masterfully crafted blade, and a weapon bought from death in the depths of the oceans. Two Gods, unleashing themselves on each other with raw, untameable power.

Tommy’s legs shook, his arms strained, but he held his ground. For whatever few breaths he had left.

Sapnap started to pull back, stepping further and further away from the two boys as he parried their attacks. His dark hair was tumbling in his face, brows dripping in sweat and cheeks streaked with a grim blend of dirt and crusting blood.

Tommy yelled out in protest when the man brought his axe up to defend himself, before he took a leap backwards and spun, running towards Dream, who had somehow lost Technoblade. Him and Tubbo stood for a second, sharing a look of confusion as their breathing struggled.

Then they watched as Dream threw something from his pocket before Sapnap pulled a crossbow from over his shoulder, aiming it slowly, with deadly precision. Tommy almost realised too late. “Techno!” he screamed, voice scratching against his throat. Red eyes clicked onto his instantly. Tommy gestured wildly. “ _Crystals_! They have crystals!”

Technoblade didn’t swear often. But at that moment, as the man skidded across the ground, dirt painting itself along his trouser legs, as he brought his trident up with one hand, his shield to protect himself with the other, a maelstrom of curses dripped from his tongue, gravelly and low and completely panicked. He destroyed the thing before it could set off the tnt Wilbur had rigged up underneath the whole city, Sapnap’s arrow burying itself into Techno’s shield instead of the crystal.

Tommy could’ve collapsed with relief.

And then he saw a flash of green from across the battlefield. He could have more crystals, he could have his own tnt, he could have anything. Tommy swallowed the realisation down with a gulp. Dream could have _anything_.

He needed to die.

If Tommy wanted his home back, if he wanted his freedom back. Dream couldn’t live. He couldn't let him live. 

He tightened his jaw.

Tommy was a dead man walking, was living on borrowed time. Had been since he was twelve and had run away from his village, with nothing to his name but the clothes on his back and his friend’s hand in his. He was living on time he didn’t deserve, which meant he had to be the one to take the risks for L’Manberg. For Techno, the man who had accepted him as a brother without questioning it. For Tubbo, the brother he’d always had and never deserved. For Wilbur, the brother he refused to let go.

He took off running, ignoring Tubbo calling after him. He weaved in and out of the turmoil, trying his best to not slide on the dirt and the blood and the water that pooled under his feet. He locked onto that godforsaken green fabric, baring his teeth as he leapt towards Dream.

The older man didn’t speak this time, didn’t goad him as their blades met with a clash. Tommy dug his boots into the mud and lashed out. Properly unleashed himself. Not trained moves like Techno had taught him. Not honest or noble moves like Wilbur had taught him.

Life was war, and Tommy was its child, raised in blood and vengeance and feral, animalistic survival.

He would make it proud. Would make something proud for once in his life.

Dream’s mask was cracking, a green eye visible through the ceramic streaked with horror. Their blades met in a horrible embrace, screeching as they moved around each other. Dirt flicked up onto their skin. Tommy hissed at each blow Dream delivered, the lack of armour meaning each cut was met solely with skin. He tried to chip at Dream’s armour, but his sword just seemed to clatter of without any real consequences.

He snarled, mouth dry and lips coated in a sheen as he tried a different approach. He pushed up into the air again, and this time Dream mimicked his actions. He watched, waiting and ready as the blond man lifted his sword, ready to meet Tommy’s. But Tommy didn’t aim to deflect. And Dream’s blade slashed through skin instead of metal.

The two of them fell to the ground, the upturned soil meeting them with a vengeance, ready to drag them both under, ready to feed their skin to the roots, their bones to the plants. But it was not their time yet. 

Tommy stood up, now with two fingers less than he should have thanks to Dream’s blade. He limped over to the other man; sword still tight in his right hand. He buried his left hand into his side, tears welling in his eyes at the pain of the mess of bones and blood and flesh that was his hand. But he kept walking and took in a shaky breath as he aimed his blade at Dream’s throat.

The man blinked up at him from the ground, two green eyes painted in conquest. The mask Tommy had sliced from his face lay to his right. Before Dream could reach for it, Tommy brought his foot up and shattered the damn thing, shoving the white ceramic into the mud until it was unrecognisable.

Dream held up his hands in defeat as Tommy pushed the blade into his throat further, a single drop of red bursting from, dripping onto the netherite. Before he could end it, before he could just move his fingers an inch to the left and have Dream take his final breath, choking on his own goddamn blood, the older man spoke.

“Tell Wilbur I need to talk to him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah sorry its been so long guys but this took a whole ass while to write <3
> 
> as always comments really keep me motivated, gimme that feedback :)


	28. Could've Had it All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Making no mistakes is what establishes the certainty of victory, for it means conquering an enemy that is already defeated."
> 
> Death 1/?

Quackity lowered his shield tentatively when Callahan, instead of plunging his axe into the side of Quackity’ skull, let the weapon fall from his fingers and plunge into the dirt beneath them. He followed the other man’s gaze towards the middle of the battlefield, his eyes falling on two figures.

One young, broken and limping, cradling his left hand to his chest and waving a white sheet with the right. One taller than the other, blond hair framing an unrecognisable face. Quackity balked when he realised who it was. A tanned face decorated with scars. A long, deep one embedded on the right side of his face, slashing through high cheekbones, through pale green eyes the colour of moss. He didn’t look wholly human, as he strode across the muddied ground.

No wonder George had stuck with him for so long, Quackity thought to himself as he watched Dream roll back his shoulders. He was a fucking psychopath, but he looked like some sort of god who had floated down to grace their soil with his presence for just a moment.

Dream stopped in front of Wilbur, who was standing, surrounded by the stench of blood and death like he didn’t mind. He actually looked untouched, as if he had been a mere spectator in the dance of destruction that the rest of them had taken part in. A sword was tossed to Will’s feet as Tommy passed Dream to stand beside the other man, legs trembling as if they couldn’t handle his own weight anymore.

“We would like to surrender.” Dream’s voice rung out, and Quackity found himself focusing on matching the familiar voice with the scarred face. And then what he said settled on his bones.

Tommy’s mouth hung open; blue eyes wide as he grabbed onto Wilbur’s arm. Quackity heard shouts of relief sound out around him, as well as what he thought was sobs painted with liberation. He glanced around, watching as windows were pried open slowly, revealing hidden citizens, peering out as they held their children close. Quackity’s heart sank. Schlatt hadn’t even evacuated the city. He’d been prepared to let all of these people die. Had been prepared to let Quackity and the rest of them kill these innocent people.

Dream didn’t wait for a response from Will before he turned on his heels, slinging his hands into his pockets. “So, follow me,” he added, gesturing vaguely with his head.

Quackity let his shield tumble to the ground when Dream passed him, green eyes sliding over him with a gruesomely amused look. Tommy and Wilbur stayed behind him, Tommy clinging to the older man as Wilbur walked wordlessly. Quackity moved slowly, joints screaming out in protest, joining their sombre parade with everyone else.

Niki came up beside him, blood dripping elegantly down from her hairline. He reached up to wipe it off, the blood smearing itself on his knuckle. They silently checked over each other, Quackity nodding when she gestured to his shoulder. He could feel the slow pain start to ebb across his skin again, could feel the slight throb running all the way down to his fingers. But that was unimportant right now.

The two armies followed as Dream led them to the caravan, shoving the door down with his foot without even trying the handle first. Quackity watched as something like frustration passed over the man’s face before he stood to the side, holding the door open for Wilbur and Tommy. Everyone filed in, one by one, and Quackity couldn’t help it as his body seized up when he brushed past Dream.

“Wait, he’s here,” Wilbur said from somewhere in the crowd, voice confused. He sounded different, gone was the usual snark and hilarity. He sounded tired, older than he was.

Quackity pushed past, muttering half-assed _excuse me’s_ as he shouldered Sapnap out of the way, stumbling when he broke out of the mob squeezed into the small area. A small smothered gasp threatened to escape his lips before Quackity threw his hands over his mouth. The foul stench of sweat and crusting blood filled his mouth, coating his tongue, but it was better than the eye-watering smell of alcohol that threatened to destroy him.

Schlatt sat collapsed against the wall, head leaning back. His brown hair stuck to his forehead with grime, long and stringy. His lips impossibly pale and cracked, like the floor of a barren desert as old blood dried itself into the fractures. Veins were too prominent under his soiled shirt, angry purple lines scratching themselves up his arms. His skin was milky against his scraggly beard, and Quackity thought that if he touched him, Schlatt would tear.

_A man in a pressed suit, black charcoal stark against his tanned skin. Schlatt grinned as he stood on top of the stage, fingers clenching the edges of the podium. His tie blew in the wind, red the same colour as the wine they’d drunk earlier in celebration._

_He beckoned Quackity forward, and together they looked upon the city that was theirs. The city was drunk on the victory, on their burning flag waving in the sky. Schlatt’s eyes shinned like coins, grin splitting his handsome face in two as he shook his head in disbelief. He raked his hands through his hair, chestnut brown catching in lean fingers._

_“It’s all ours,” he breathed, voice dropping off into a breathy laugh. “Fuck, it’s all ours, Alex!”_

Now, his breaths were little more than short wheezes as he blinked, trying to focus on all the people in front of him.

“Wilbur?” Schlatt’s voice came out as a croak as his yellow eyes seemed to concentrate on the tall man in front of him. Wilbur slowly bent down so he was eye level with Schlatt. He leaned back, angling his jaw away when Schlatt peered up at him, fingers twitching outwards as if he wanted to reach out.

His face contorted, dark brows furrowing viciously like a child’s in the midst of a tantrum, as if he wanted to drag Wilbur down towards him by the collar. As if he wanted nothing more than to drown the other man in his own misery, as if he wanted to see Wilbur scream out and choke, fingers reaching out with nothing to grip onto.

“What are you-what are you doing?” Wilbur asked, sounding genuinely confused and irritated as he glared at Schlatt. The president just rolled his eyes, letting his back drop against the wall again, kicking his legs out in a futile attempt to push away Wilbur.

“What the hell is going on?” Quackity demanded, feeling like he was being unskinned layer by layer when Schlatt’s watery and pale eyes jumped up to meet his.

“Is this a surprise birthday party?” Schlatt asked innocently, tips of his lips quirking into a grin.

“What are you doing in my van?” Wilbur hissed, pulling his beanie off his head as he glowered at Schlatt. The drunk man’s eyes seemed to spark up at that motion, eyes focusing tersely on the hair that framed Will’s sharp face. Then Will’s head tilted to the right like he spotted something, and Schlatt shuffled quickly, something clanking against the floor. “Are you-are you drinking?” he asked, incredulous.

Schlatt seemed to realise the gig was up, shrugging before he pulled out a glass bottle from behind his back, grinning as he offered it to Wilbur. When the other man didn’t move, Schlatt just laughed, the sound manic and loud, before he poured the liquid down his throat.

“Oh god.” Wilbur sighed, head dropping into his hands before he pushed himself up, looking down at Schlatt with a mix of conflicting pity and hatred fighting across his face.

Schlatt hadn’t changed one bit. He was still the same. Quackity ran his tongue over his teeth, watching as his old friend’s eyes flickered between shut and open as he continued drinking, throat bobbing. He hadn’t changed. He had chosen to fight, and for what? Had forced them to fight, had forced them to risk their lives, risk all the lives of the people _Schlatt_ had brought here, and for what? What the fuck had this all been for, if Schlatt was going to sit here, drowning himself in alcohol.

Wilbur straightened his back, shaking out his coat as he turned away from the man on the floor. “Is this what you wanted to show me, Dream?”

The blond man had moved from his spot at the door, and was now standing beside Sapnap, arms folded loosely across his chest. Everyone who hadn’t noticed in the chaos, was now staring at his face with wide eyes. The man either didn’t notice, or didn’t seem to care, as he nodded, looking with a tight frown down at Schlatt. Maybe that was why Dream wore that mask. Because everything he was thinking was clear on his face, from the dark pity swirling in his green eyes, to the irritation tugging at his chapped lips. 

“Yes.”

Tommy snorted from where he stood beside Wilbur. Quackity’s face paled and his gut clenched with nausea when Tommy pointed at Dream. The smirk on Tommy’s face a sharp contrast to the mess of his hand, blood trickling down and circling his wrist like a bracelet as a messy knot of bones left over from the omission of two fingers stuck out of his hand. Behind him, Fundy swore under his breath, Niki gripping her hair tightly. Because Tommy was just a kid. A kid with a fucked leg from the last war, and two less fingers on his left hand from this one.

“Is this your leader, Dream?” Tommy sneered.

Green eyes flashed with annoyance, Dream pushing his lips tightly together as he glared at Tommy. “No, this is not my leader.”

Tommy laughed at the man, blond hair streaked with blood, probably his own, before he looked towards Schlatt. “You bowed to… _this_.”

“So…” Wilbur tried as Schlatt started coughing, the sound itself painful, as if Schlatt was trying to tear his own throat apart. 

“ _Schlatt_ ,” Quackity breathed, but no one heard him. No one ever really heard him. Schlatt had, at the start, at least. But even he had stopped. He didn’t know, couldn’t decide, if he wanted Schlatt to choke on his own sick, or if he wanted to drop down beside the man and help him. But Schlatt was past helping. Schlatt had always been past helping, even before he had turned to this shit. He was unapologetically his own self, refusing to listen to anything anyone ever said, even if they said it to help him.

“Is he drunk?” Dream asked, brows furrowing as spit dripped down from Schlatt’s lips onto his shirt. Quackity looked up at the man with narrowed eyes. Was he fucking stupid? God, the man may be good at using a sword but sometimes he was fucking _dense_.

“He’s a little bit more than drunk,” Fundy murmured.

“So, Dream, why have you brought me here?” Wilbur asked, hands slouched in his coat pockets as he tilted his head. Brown curls fell into his face. Will didn’t push them aside. Schlatt was muttering in the background, incohesive words slurring together in a mess as Wilbur spoke over him. “Do you want me to end it?”

Dream grimaced as he looked from Will to Schlatt, as if he was genuinely unsure of what to say. “No, I don’t think-” He was cut off by Schlatt yelling words that meant nothing, smashing the glass bottle against the floor.

“He smells like alcohol,” Quackity whispered, more to himself than anyone else as he watched Schlatt tunnel deeper and deeper into something he didn’t recognise. Something he didn’t want to recognise.

“Fundy?” Schlatt shouted, head whipping around as he searched across the faceless crowd. He stilled when Fundy gingerly stepped forward, raking a hand through his auburn hair. They watched as Schlatt pushed himself up, fingers pressed against the wall as his legs shook beneath him. “Fundy, what are you doing here? Fundy are you…”

He narrowed his eyes when they fell on Fundy, slumping forward in his direction. His face knotted with an unreasonable anger, snarling like a fucking animal as he reached out, as if to strangle the other man.

“Come here you bitch,” Schlatt shouted, voice hoarse. “You bitch!” he screamed as he lurched himself at Fundy, sending them both to the ground. Fundy didn’t even protest, just let Schlatt weakly punch at him, barely raising his arms in defence. That just seemed to piss off Schlatt further as he bared his teeth, fingers clenching together into fists.

Quackity moved before any serious damage could be dealt to either of them, practically dragging Schlatt off of Fundy, looping his arms around the other man’s shoulders. Niki and Eret helped Fundy up, the auburn-haired man brushing himself down

“Chill, chill,” Quackity tried to hush Schlatt as he struggled in his arms, thrashing weakly as he spat at Fundy.

“Who’s going to do shit with me now man?” Schlatt asked, voice bitter and strangled as he went still in Quackity’s arms, coughing ferociously. Blood splattered onto Quackity’s boot. Schlatt didn’t even acknowledge him, just kept his eyes trained on Fundy.

“Schlatt, you fucked up the country!” Fundy protested weakly; voice painted in bitter disappointment. “You fucked up everything. You had a dream and I followed it, but you fucked it up. You ruined everything.”

“This shit has something in it.” Schlatt’s head lolled into Quackity’s head, voice soft and childlike as he rubbed his own hands over his face. Quackity watched on as the man in his arms slurred, choking on his own cursed tongue. “It’s working its magic.”

“I thought you were something,” Fundy said, head hanging. Schlatt seemed to hear that though, because he was suddenly standing up on his own two shaky legs, pushing Quackity weakly away from him. He glared at Fundy, bottom lip moving into a sneer.

“Yeah. Yeah, I _am_ something. I’m what you’re not, Fundy.”

“What?” Fundy demanded, jaw jutting out as Eret placed a calming hand on his shoulder. Fundy didn’t push him off, but he also didn’t back down either.

Schlatt didn’t respond, looking at his own trembling hands as if they were on fire. “Fucking, I need more…” he trailed off, shaking his head feverously, hair hanging in front of his face in limp strings.

“What am I not?” Fundy asked again, voice raised.

Schlatt’s head snapped towards him, eyes feral, unhinged. “You’re not a man.” When Fundy moved towards him, fingers flexing with the anticipation, Quackity subtly stepped in front of Schlatt, keeping him away from the other man. The other not plastered, able bodied, stronger man. Schlatt didn’t notice. “Yeah, that’s right,” he giggled, continuing to goad on Fundy until Wilbur stepped forward with an exasperated sigh.

“I’ve had enough of this,” he breathed, turning towards Dream with raised brows. “Dream, are you ready for me to end this?”

Schlatt peered over Quackity’s shoulder with a frown. “ _What_?” His voice trembled like a child's, eyes going wide with horror as his chapped and bleeding lips parted.

That seemed to snap something in Wilbur, because when he turned back to face them, his brown eyes were painted in something otherworldly. “Are you ready to fucking _die_ , Schlatt?” he shouted, voice horribly loud, like a gunshot in Quackity’s head.

“Fuck off,” Schlatt hissed before he tried to lean down, grabbing for something off of the ground. Blood drippled down his own fingers as he snatched onto the broken glass in a last attempt at survival, holding it out at the group of people watching on in horror.

“Put the broken bottle down, Schlatt,” Quackity said slowly, holding his arms out placatingly. Schlatt finally looked up at him, really looked up at him. He didn’t fight back when Quackity stepped forward, too quickly as the wound in his shoulder made an awkward ripping sound. Quackity gritted his teeth together and tried to ignore the pain as he moved towards Schlatt.

“Tommy, do you still have Dream’s bow?” Wilbur asked as Quackity wrestled the glass out of Schlatt’s cold fingers.

“I do.” Came Tommy’s hard response. Quackity didn’t take his eyes off of Schlatt, the glass pressing painfully into both of their fingers. He silently urged Schlatt to let go, especially when the older man’s eyes seemed to crumble, face paling with fear.

“Tommy, I want you to put it between his eyes,” Wilbur ordered. Schlatt let go off the glass, lurching backwards as he desperately shook his head. The blood pooled in Quackity’s palms, an amalgam of his and Schlatt’s.

“You guys are _killing_ him?” A voice he didn’t recognise protested. Quackity didn’t turn, didn’t try and see who said it, didn’t try and see who was trying to protect Schlatt, even now. He just kept watching as Schlatt backed up until his back cracked against the wall.

“It’s the only thing to do!” Wilbur shouted, and he sounded genuinely distressed for a moment and if Quackity wasn’t too buried in his own confused wave of emotions, he might’ve wondered why. Wilbur had wanted Schlatt dead from the very start, and now, when he was staring it in its face, he sounded strained, stressed, somber.

“Victory or death,” he said, voice not wavering this time. “Do it, Tommy.”

“You know if I die,” Schlatt tried to speak, voice rubbed raw. “This city goes down with me.”

“No. It doesn’t,” Tommy said, frowning as he carefully aimed the bow right between Schlatt’s brows. His fingers twitched on the string, the metal arrowhead glinting in the light.

Schlatt tipped his head back as he roared with laughter. “You’ve got a lotta nerve, Tommy Innit.” His voice was dark and cold, but no one missed the slight twinge of terror. Not as Tommy rolled his shoulder back, tightening his hold on the wooden bow.

“You could’ve had it, Schlatt,” Quackity said, voice low and hesitant. “You could’ve had it all.”

“Everyone turned on me!” Schlatt screamed out, teeth chipped and stained as he scowled at Quackity. “In my time of need, everyone left me. You left me. You fucking _left_ me. Who the fuck else did I have left?” His voice broke painfully, like he might sob, and it was worse than the sharp, stabbing pain he felt in his shoulder. As Schlatt stepped forward, breathing heavily.

“I had to go!” Quackity protested, not even flinching as Schlatt futilely punched him. His hand landed limply against his other arm, more like a tap than anything. “This is your fault.”

“Schlatt, stop, this is pathetic,” someone from behind them said. Neither of them paid attention as they locked eyes, Schlatt’s hand not moving from his arm.

“You took down the White House,” Quackity breathed shakily.

Schlatt nodded. “Yeah, I took down the White House because it looked like shit.”

“This is your fault,” Quackity repeated, not moving to help him when Schlatt’s knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor. His hand dropped from Quackity’s arm as he shook horribly, like something was electrocuting the man.

“Don’t kill me, please,” he muttered, to who, Quackity couldn't tell. Schlatt dropped his head into his hands, fingers digging into his scalp so tightly it must've been painful for the man. Quackity wondered if he could even feel it. Could even feel pain. Or if Schlatt had killed that part of himself off too.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Wilbur asked, as he placed a firm hand on Tommy’s shoulder, the boy never taking his eyes off his target. Schlatt’s shoulders started to viciously shake as he hid his face, and for a split second Quackity thought the man was crying. But then he pulled back, and although his eyes were streaming, it was from the excruciating coughing that was racking through his whole body.

“Schlatt?” Dream asked, sounding genuinely concerned for once in his life.

Schlatt just shook his head, fist hitting the floor weakly as he coughed and coughed and coughed. His whole body was shuddering, blood and spit spluttering from his lips as the man’s eyes rolled back into his head.

“This is it now, Schlatt,” Tommy said, although he sounded unsure of himself. The boy lowered the bow slightly when Schlatt wheezed, as if he was trying to speak. The left side of his face was trembling as he reached onto his own shirt, dripping in sweat. His face was painted in crimson, eyes bloodshot as he gasped for a breath.

“I don’t feel good,” he murmured through spluttering coughs.

“Schlatt?” Quackity asked, hand moving to reach out, when Schlatt’s coughing died out. The man crumpled in on himself, head hitting against the floor with a harsh thud. Silence fell. One. Two. Eleven seconds passed before Quackity moved, knees skidding along the wooden panels as he turned Schlatt over, gripping his wrist as he desperately searched for a pulse, for anything. When he couldn’t feel anything but horrible coldness, he lowered his ear to the man’s still chest.

He shut his eyes. One. Two. Three. He opened them up again, glancing up at the people who surrounded him. He couldn’t latch onto any of the faces as Schlatt’s hands were still, impossibly so, in his own.

“He’s dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the continued support!


	29. A Blur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hope is as hollow as fear."
> 
> The battle is won. But the war...

Tubbo had stood beside Tommy as the nurse patched up his fingers. Well, he stood beside the bed, pushing Tommy’s damp hair back from his forehead. It had been three hours since Schlatt had died. Three hours since Quackity had carried his body from the van. Three hours since a thin sheet had been placed over the corpse, the silhouette of chipped horns poking out.

Tubbo didn’t know what they’d done with the body. Buried or burned it, or maybe it was still lying somewhere, abandoned, lonely and reeking of alcohol. As soon as Quackity had passed them, arms full and face somber, Tommy had dropped to his knees, bow tumbling from his fingers. As if he’d just been holding on until the end, holding on as long as he possibly could.

“Jesus, Tommy,” Tubbo swore at the sight of his hand, bone splintering out of mangled flesh. He crouched down beside Tommy as Fundy ran to find help, letting his friend grip onto his hands so tightly Tubbo had to grit his teeth.

“It’s over,” Tommy had breathed, voice quivering as if they were sitting in the middle of a snowstorm instead of in a foul-smelling van. Tubbo had only been able to nod before Tommy had sat up quickly, vomiting up his guts onto the floor beside them as he shivered so hard Tubbo could hear his teeth rattling.

The rest had passed by in a hazy blur. A woman with black hair scraped into a bun running into the van, tailed by Fundy. Nausea tugging at his throat as the lady inspected Tommy’s hand, voice soothing as she told him he needed to have surgery to prevent an infection. The thudding of his heart in his ribs like a rock in a wooden box as Fundy scooped Tommy up into his arms like he weighed nothing. Holding onto Tommy’s other hand as he passed out, slipping in and out of consciousness from the pain. Sweat dripping down his forehead as he watched the lady sew up the stumps where Tommy’s middle and ring finger should’ve been.

It had been an hour since she’d left, leaving Tubbo with a comatose Tommy. Tubbo watched from the window, fingers pressed against the glass as the same woman tended to bodies littered across the battlefield. She was bending down beside Ponk, the hem of her dress splattered with mud, blood streaked across her dark skin as she helped guide a potion down his throat. A lot of civilians were actually helping at the clearing where the battle had been, handing out fresh bread and old potions, saved from the healers of old. It looked like they were helping soldiers from either side, as Tubbo noticed a young girl tug on Sapnap’s sleeve.

He was standing beside Ponk, arms folded in irritated defeat, watching on in silence as the healer helped his friend. The older man turned with a snarl towards the girl, but his face softened when dark eyes fell on her face. He took the slice of bread wordlessly, throat bobbing when she pressed a damp cloth against a shallow gash across his bicep. So yeah, they were helping people on both sides, but Tubbo figured that didn’t really matter so much. Everyone deserved help after a battle like that. Who was he to decide who deserved healing and warm food in their bellies?

A gurgle sounded from the bed, and Tubbo whipped around to see Tommy blinking, blue eyes dazed as he tried to latch onto something. “Tubbo?” he asked, voice tentative.

“Here,” he said, instantly at his side. “I got you.”

“Fuck, my head,” Tommy hissed as Tubbo helped guide him up, stuffing a pillow behind his back. “How long’s it been?” he asked, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Three hours,” Tubbo replied, hands still on Tommy’s shoulders. A frown worked itself onto his face when the younger boy groaned, trying to push himself up out of bed. “You need to rest, Tommy,” he chided, pressing his fingers into his shoulders ever so slightly in an attempt to make him stay. Tommy paused; eyes calm for once as he looked up at him. “It’s been a long day," Tubbo breathed. 

“Can say that again,” Tommy snorted, blond hair falling in his face as he shook his head with laughter. He trailed off with a loose, tired breath, clamping his good hand on Tubbo’s shoulder. “You fought well, man.”

“I’m not the one who lost two fingers fighting Dream. The man people sing songs of legendary power about,” Tubbo pointed out, a matching grin on his own face when Tommy smiled. The gap in his front two teeth sparkled.

“You’re right,” Tommy nodded, smugness plastered on his face. “I’m kind of a God,” he declared as his eyes fell on his other hand, wrapped tightly in calico. He watched as Tommy winced, his hand dropping from Tubbo’s shoulder to the fabric.

When Tubbo went to warn him about pulling at his injury, the door was flung open. Niki stood in the doorway, still in her torn clothes from the fight, but with a clean, washed face and hair tied back in a braided bun sitting prettily on top of her head. With her hair pulled out of her face and with rounded cheeks and bright eyes on full display, she looked years younger.

“Everyone’s gathering at the stage,” she said, steps light as she walked over to the bed. Her smile sent a familiar warmth through Tubbo’s body, a glowing feeling settling in his chest. “Wilbur’s making an announcement. Seems pretty important.”

“Tommy needs to rest,” Tubbo frowned, sharing a look with Niki before the two of them raised their brows at the boy on the bed. The boy who was already kicking the sheets off of himself and swinging his legs off the mattress. His feet didn’t reach the ground as he shuffled to the edge of the bed.

“Nope,” he grinned, and Tubbo recognised the sly face as Tommy plastered innocence across his soft features, blue eyes sparkling up at them. “I’m as fresh as a daisy. The new and improved Tommy, you could say. Who ever said you needed five fingers anyway?” He ended his words on the same beat as he jumped down into the boots that were neatly set at the foot of the bed. He didn’t bother tying his laces, snatching up his dirty coat from the side and shouldering it on.

“Shall we?” he asked, hooking his arm through Tubbo’s and then Niki’s with a wide, lopsided grin. The three of them found their way to the stage together, Tommy tightening his hold on his friends as they made their way down the aisle. Tubbo glanced around nervously, biting down on his bottom lip as he noted that Schlatt’s army was here too, sat along the back row.

Sapnap was sitting with the same little girl as before, Tubbo watching on with curiosity as he bounced her up and down on his knee as she squealed with joy. A man he didn’t recognise was beside them, brown hair matted with dirt as he yawned into the crook of his elbow, dropping his head onto Sapnap’s shoulder. He was wearing the ugliest jumper Tubbo had ever seen. The only one who wasn’t there was Dream, but before Tubbo could dwell on that, the sound of exultant cheers drowned out the twisting, ugly thoughts.

The rest of the rows were filled with civilians. Faces Tubbo recognised from his time at Schlatt’s side, faces that were completely new to him. Faces that were smiling happily, faces that were clapping. It took him a moment to realise they were clapping for them, for him, as he walked down with Niki and Tommy. He found his own matching smile tugging at his lips, letting out a breathless laugh as they reached the front.

As they reached their own family.

Niki disentangled her arms from Tubbo and Tommy’s, crying out with joy as Eret and Fundy ran towards her, their own arms open. The three of them met in the middle, a merry mess of limbs and laughter and tears of relief as they buried their faces in each other’s shoulders.

Quackity stood from where he was sat, and although he was smiling, white teeth and dimples on full display as he hugged Tommy and Tubbo, the younger boy didn’t miss the cracking pain in his dark eyes. He moved with heavy limbs, like something was weighing him down, like something was trying its best to keep him tethered to the ground.

Tubbo slid down beside Quackity, clapping the man’s shoulder in what he hoped was comfort. Quackity just nodded in response, throat bobbing as his eyes watered slightly. He didn’t say anything to the man, because Tubbo knew there was nothing he could say to help, not really.

Because there was nothing he could say to bring back Schlatt. Not the Schlatt Quackity had maybe loved like a brother, the Schlatt with the smooth voice and charming face, hiding the slyness being lopsided grins. Or the Schlatt that Quackity had abandoned, the Schlatt with the chapped lips and a smirk that always seemed a bit too wide for his face. Maybe Quackity didn’t even want Schlatt back, maybe he knew that this was the best outcome, the only outcome, and that fact was just weighing a bit too heavily on the young man’s heart.

So Tubbo just let his hand fall from his shoulder with one last squeeze, a silent promise to be there.

Tommy was about to sit down beside Tubbo when a booming voice came from above. The cheering chatter of the crowd died down, and everyone looked up to see Wilbur on the stage, leaning casually against the podium.

His brown eyes were wide, smile more natural than it had been in half a year. Tubbo watched as Wilbur waved a hand towards Tommy, biting on his nails as Tommy frowned before he gestured to himself in confusion.

Instead of directing the crowd gathered below, Will rolled his eyes, and adressed Tommy only.

“Tommy, I know you never thought you’d hear me say this but…get on this podium, Tommy. Or should I say, President Elect Tommy Innit.”

“Oh my god,” Tubbo laughed in disbelief as loud claps echoed around the clearing, raking his shaking hands through his hair. Tommy glanced down at him; blue eyes painted in uncertainty. Tubbo nodded, lightly pushing Tommy forward. The boy almost stumbled as he made his way up to the ruined stage, feet slipping on the stairs as he gazed out in awe at the sea of people watching him, clapping for him.

“Let the new President speak,” Fundy called out once Tommy reached the podium, Wilbur stepping out the way with an elegant slide.

“Tommy,” Wilbur nodded when the boy still didn’t speak, fingers gripping tightly onto the wooden dais with his right hand, his left arm flopping at his side. Tommy smiled, wind kissing his fresh wind, cheeks flushed with a proud red colour. It wasn’t a feral smirk, baring his teeth, or a shit-eating grin. It was a pure, genuine smile, and it went all the way up to his bright eyes.

“Hello everyone,” Tommy coughed awkwardly, licking his bottom lip as he looked out to the crowd. To _his_ people. “It looks like we won.” Cheers echoed, a roar of raw emotion, and Tubbo thought this was heaven, as he sat, surrounded by his family, drowning in claps of pride for the sacrifices they’d made for their home. “And I never thought I’d say this but after the hardships, all the tyranny we’ve been through…” he trailed off with a shaky exhale. “Wilbur,” he said, turning to face the older man who stood to his right. Will nodded, a soft smile on his face.

“Tubbo,” Tommy laughed, dimples crinkling as he latched onto Tubbo’s eyes in the crowd. Tubbo threw up his hands in victory, laughing easily. “After everything. It was meant to be.”

He heard Eret snort from beside him, but he was quickly drowned out by the cheers, as if everyone in L’Manberg’s heart had learned to fly together, at the very same time.

“Where’s Dream?” Tommy asked over the crowd, leaning forward over the podium. Tubbo’s own claps faltered, and his throat seized up slightly. He turned, glancing over his shoulder at the same time a man towards the back stepped forward.

While Dream had seemed perfectly content with showing all the soldiers his face, he’d now tugged his hood so far over his head his face was covered with dancing shadows. The only thing that dared peek out from the darkness was a loose curl of gold, the only indication that it was a man under that green wave of fabric, and not a demon.

“’M here,” Dream called, lazy voice almost songlike as he condescendingly waved up to the men on the stage. The crowd lost their voice, the cheers dying as everyone stared upon Dream as the man spun a decorative dagger in his long fingers. He was slouched against a stall, one ankle thrown over the other. If it wasn’t so set up and calculated, he would’ve looked intimidating. “But I’m not bowing to you, Tommy Innit.”

When Tubbo glanced back up, Tommy’s jaw was clenched in what he knew was barely restrained anger. “I don’t need you to bow to me. I just need you to listen.” Before Dream could reply, sliding the dagger inside his sleeve, Tommy turned to Wilbur, biting his bottom lip tentatively. “Wilbur, I know you said I’d never be president.”

“You can be,” Will nodded encouragingly.

Tommy’s fingers unclenched and clenched the podium. A spiral of concern shot through Tubbo as he watched on, digging his own nails into his palms as Tommy’s eyes scanned the crowds. He felt the finality in his friend’s voice before he even spoke.

“No, I can’t be.”

“What are you up to, Tommy?” Tubbo muttered under his breath, resisting the urge to hide his face behind his hands as gasps sparked from the crowd. Murmurs filled the area and Tubbo winced as they slithered across his ears.

“As much as this is everything, as much as this is what would have been everything,” Tommy caught his voice on his words, hanging his head as he dropped his hand from the podium. Tubbo clenched as a low, dark chuckle sounded from nearby. Flinching, he turned his head to the right, and was met with a familiar green hoodie.

Dream had miraculously appeared right beside him, legs crossed in a basket as he sardonically clapped. Tubbo held his breath as Tommy looked up, blue eyes snapping straight towards Dream.

“I’ve still got unfinished business. Cause you’ve still got those discs. And I can’t do this until I’m done.” Tubbo watched as Wilbur grabbed his own hair in stress, head flicking from between Dream, seated right beside Tubbo, and Tommy, who was grinning wildly.

“And Dream, we’re not done.”

The blond just nodded, his fingers tapping along his knees as he leaned back in the bench. Tommy, the other side of the unrelenting, violent coin, tilted his head forward. A determination Tubbo hadn’t seen for a while settled on his face, a determination that was completely freed from everything else.

“Wilbur, I can’t be the President,” Tommy repeated as he looked to his brother. “Thank you, but until I’ve got those discs back, I am not done. And it wouldn’t be fair of me to take this place in L’Manberg if I’m preoccupied. Because I’ve got to get those discs back.”

Beside Tubbo, Dream uncrossed his legs, scuffed and tattered boots hitting the grass with a soft thud. A huff of amusement came from the hood, something dark plaited into the sadistic delight.

“I got unfinished business, and until that’s done…” He shook his head as he trailed off, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Wilbur, I know you’ve had your moments. But _you_ did this,” he declared, scarred hand pointing out to the crowd of people, the sea of colours, the cries of freedom.

“Without a single explosion,” Tommy added with a small smile as he looked to Wilbur, as if they were sharing a private joke. As if it was just the two of them, just like it had been for months, on top of that stage, on top of the world, finally at peace once again. “And so, Will. Take your place as L’Manberg’s President.”

The orange banners swam in the wind as Wilbur took Tommy’s place, the younger boy moving to the back of the stage. They framed him on either, stark against the blue sky like flames burying up into the air. The fabric was torn and charred, curled up and darkening with charcoal at the bottom. But still they flew proudly, symbolising a new beginning as Wilbur leaned on the podium.

“I’m going to keep this brief.” His voice was stronger than Tommy’s had been. More prepared, more natural and calmer in front of the crowd. But it was also more strained, as if it took more out of Wilbur to speak, to force him to address his people.

“Welcome to L’Manberg everyone.” The cheers warmed the air more than the golden sun, Wilbur smiling softly down at them all. If Tubbo wasn’t so drugged up on the sheer joyous relief flowing through his veins, maybe he would’ve noticed the shadow flirting over Will’s face. Would’ve noticed that the smile was carefully constructed, close to faltering into a grimace.

“And in keeping with this theme of renascence, we’re scrapping that flag.” Tubbo followed Will’s line of sight to the old Manberg flag, the black like a nasty wound in the horizon. The true flag’s colours, the one that had been burned by their own, were sewn into his coat, so he would always remember. He let his fingers trace the thread, smiling down at it. He’d done it himself, after Niki had taught him how to sew in case of another emergency like the Festival. But instead of stitching flesh together, he’d been content with carefully embroidering the inside of his jacket with his colours, the colours of home.

“Our flag is yellow, black. Red, white and blue.” Will’s smile dropped and he took a shaky breath in. “However, I also cannot be your president.” Gasps rung around like warning bells, the crowd murmuring to itself. Tubbo turned to Quackity, but the boy didn’t even look like he was listening, dark eyes trained on the damp grass beneath them.

He shuffled closer to Quackity when Sapnap appeared beside Dream, stocky arms folded tightly to his chest. “What the fuck is happening?” he murmured as he looked up at Will, who was watching the crowd with intrigue. Dream didn’t even acknowledge his friend, just kept his head towards the stage, fingers slowly tapping his knee. It was as if he was counting down to something.

“Techno, you’ve taught me a lot.” Wilbur’s voice was clear, cutting through the murmurs. Everyone turned, scanning for the man Will was addressing. Techno was standing at the side, leaning against a building as he watched on with vague interest, as if he was there purely out of obligation. He straightened his back however when pairs of eyes blinked their focus onto him. Red eyes burned with awkward embarrassment, lips turning into a frown as he looked up at Will.

“You’ve shown me that government is not the way to go. And I agree with you. In everything you’ve said. And so, I am handing off the presidency to someone. It’s important to know how to say goodbye to something. And I need to say goodbye to my L’Manberg.”

The wind picked up its pace, as if it was trying its hardest to banish the lingering smell of blood that seemed it have buried itself into the ground. The orange flags behind Wilbur whispered as their dance became harsher, quicker, their movements sloppier. Tubbo didn’t realise Wilbur’s dark eyes were focused on him until he was speaking again.

“There’s only one other person who could possibly be the president. Tubbo?”

He blinked, brows knotting in confusion. Niki laughed softly from where she was sat, leaning forward to smile brightly at him. Fundy was already clapping, strong hands slapping together as Quackity lightly pushed Tubbo up onto his feet.

“I want you to come up here,” Wilbur called as Tubbo felt his feet move beneath him, even as his head swam. His breathing hitched when he passed Dream and Sapnap, feeling murderous eyes glaring into the back of his neck as he made his way up to the podium.

Tommy was grinning broadly; the smile a ray of blasting sun, burning itself onto Tubbo’s soul. Delirium soaked through Tubbo’s skin, the only thing reminding him this wasn’t a dream, the padding of his shoes on the wooden stage beneath him, and the slight headache making its way forward.

“Tubbo, look at me,” Wilbur said when he paused beside him, refusing to look out into the crowd. He blinked up when Will placed his hands on his shoulders, squeezing gently.

“I’m proud of you, Tubbo. You’re a good kid,” he told him, brown eyes sparkling like a whiskey bottle hit by the soft light of the sun. “And an even better spy,” he added, lightly flicking him on the chin. Then he was stepping back, leaving Tubbo by himself.

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he stepped towards the podium, and turned out to the crowd.

“Well, I’ve been put on the spot here a bit,” he laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. A soft echo of laughter came from the crowd, and the nervous energy bolting through him settled slightly.

“I didn’t expect to be here in front of you today. Friends. Enemies.” His eyes anxiously darted towards Dream, and Sapnap, both of them watching him with tilted heads and clenched jaws. Then he glanced towards the back of the crowd, where Bad and his faction stood, watching with what looked like genuine interest. “Enemies which I actually don’t hate all that much,” Tubbo declared, trying to offer a small smile towards the men who had tried to stop him from standing up here with their blades and flames. 

It was over now. Blades and flames retired. What would holding grudges do? That wouldn’t help anyone. Wouldn’t get Tommy his fingers back or get rid of Tubbo’s nightmares. What was done was done. They could only move forward.

“I enjoy seeing the unity. Because that’s all that really matters. Everyone here has been brought together, right? Whether we were fighting against L’Manberg or for it. We’re here together now, and that’s what’s important.”

In the front row, Niki had one hand clutching Eret’s, the other tightened with Fundy’s. She was smiling, tears ebbing at grey eyes as she nodded up at Tubbo, hair tucked behind her ears. A happy sigh fell from Tubbo’s lips.

“I think there’s a solid future to be built here. Yes, there are damages, but what doesn’t have a few scrapes and bruises here and there? There are still holes, but we can fill them. Together. That’s what I want to do as your President. I don’t want to be an agent of chaos or start violence. I just want to fix this place up. Like what it was in its hay day.”

Just peeking over the horizon, Tubbo could see a little brick house. Its short chimney just reached over the branches of the forest surrounding it, and while there was no warm smoke blowing out from it right now, and while Tubbo bet no tulips were currently blooming in the garden, he knew they one day would.

“Everyone is here in unity. No one is exiled anymore. There are no walls anymore. And although the walls were nice, now we have freedom of passage. Everyone here has fought for this city. Against or to reclaim, and that’s what counts. Thank you everyone, it’s an honour,” he finished, bowing his head down to his people.

Before he could do anything else, before he could even let what had just happened settle in, Tommy was barrelling into him, arms wrapped tightly around him. “President Tubbo!” Tommy barked out, dropping his head into Tubbo’s hair with a laugh. Tubbo grinned in return, his own arms around Tommy’s neck as his friend picked him up off the joy in victory.

“I’ll be back,” Wilbur said as he passed them, patting their shoulders again before he disappeared. Before Tubbo could ask where he was going, or if he was alright, Tommy was tugging him back down the stairs, and right into the dispersing crowd.

“I’m so proud of you,” Niki gushed, hands flush against Tubbo’s cheeks before she pulled him into a hug.

“Mr President,” Fundy laughed, clapping him on the back before Quackity ran two hands through his hair, messing it up as he grinned. “Congratulations, man.”

He waited until his family let go off him, chatting happily amongst themselves before he gripped onto Tommy’s sleeve and led him to the back of the clearing. Tommy leaned against an old stall when Tubbo let go, arms folded as he cocked his head down at him playfully.

“Tommy,” Tubbo started, trying his best to sound serious and sincere. That just made Tommy arch an eyebrow at him and bit his lip as he tried to repress a clear smile. Tubbo rolled his eyes, elbowing him in the side before he jumped up onto the stall beside him. While Tommy’s legs reached the ground, Tubbo’s didn’t, and he let them swing.

“You’ve been by my side for a very long time. And I know you have unfinished business. But once that’s done, I’d be honoured if you would join my side and be my Vice.”

Tommy’s dimples creased as he nodded candidly. “I will Tubbo,” he said, lightly elbowing him in return. “Of course, I will.”

“I can’t believe it,” Tubbo exhaled, legs swinging as Tommy tapped his untied boots against the ground. Tommy nodded in agreement, and as Tubbo leaned back, head up to the featureless blue above them, his friend’s eyes narrowed onto someone standing to the side of them.

“You all look like wankers right now.” Tubbo’s head snapped up as Tommy held his hands over his mouth, shouting over at Dream and his friends as they spoke in hushed whispers.

“Tommy,” Tubbo warned, eyes widening as Dream clicked his tongue at Tommy sneeringly.

“Wait, so there was no traitor?” Tommy asked with a laugh, dropping down from the stall to make himself eye level with Dream. “It was all bullshit.” Tubbo tightened his grip on the wooden columns of the stall. He could feel the splintering material dig into his palm.

“Oh no,” Dream laughed, shaking his head. The amusement in his voice tugged at Tubbo’s gut. “There was a traitor.”

“What?” Tubbo questioned, sceptical as he lowered himself onto the ground. Dream’s head snapped to face him, but before he could reply, Tommy let out a bark of forced laughter.

“Well, they’ve missed their fucking chance now, haven’t they?” he guffawed, rolling his eyes.

“No, just give it a minute.” The calmness in Dream’s voice threatened to send Tubbo back to a dark place, as he saw a Dream from two years ago, the air around him crackling with silent anger, aim a bow at his brother. The arrow snapped through flesh, burying itself in Tommy's leg. He was snapped out of his reverie by the wind as it kissed his cheeks.

“What?” Tommy sneered, stepping closer to Dream with a cocked head. “Was it fucking _George_?” Tommy spat out the name like it was poison in his mouth. Tubbo watched as Dream’s fingers flexed and unflexed slowly, before they moved, as if reaching for the blade strapped to his back.

Shots rang out. The three of them spun towards the direction it had come, met with a panicked sea of people clambering to get away. Tubbo would’ve drowned in the rattle if it hadn’t been for Tommy gripping onto his hand, pulling them both to the side.

“What the hell?” Tommy breathed before he started sprinting. Tubbo shouted out his name in confusion and fear, but as he chased after his friend, weaving in and out of the terrified citizens, his eyes fell on what Tommy must’ve seen earlier.

Technoblade was standing below the podium, crossbow loaded and aimed right into the centre of where the crowd had been standing. His red eyes were wide, burning with wrath, as his lips parted, revealing sharp tusks like blades. The wind was whipping at his hair, and it flew behind him, in line with his cape.

“You guys listen to me," Techno yelled, normal monotone voice dripping with an anger Tubbo had never seen from the man before. As he carefully stepped up so he was beside Tommy, he scanned their surroundings. It was only their family here now, as well as Dream and his own soldiers. Niki and Eret stood to the right of him and Tommy, blades drawn and aimed at Techno, and Quackity and Fundy were to the left, watching dumbfounded as Technoblade snarled.

“I did not spend weeks in this revolution, giving you gear, for you guys to go in and replace one tyrant with another.” Tubbo took an instinctive step backwards when Techno gestured at him with his loaded crossbow. He refused to let his mind plunge him back into the cold waters of before, when he’d been standing in this same clearing, Technoblade aiming that very same weapon at his chest.

He did not die before. He would not die now.

The burn scars across his face were testaments to that. To his strength.

He would not be afraid.

“Don’t you see what’s happening here?” Technoblade barked out, and he sounded genuinely emotional, crimson eyes flickering between all of them. “Don’t you see history repeating itself? You think Schlatt was the cause of your problems? No, it was _government_. Power corrupts.”

There was a pause of uncertainty, from both sides, as Technoblade’s eyes fell on Tommy, and as the younger boy shook his head slowly.

“Wait, Techno,” Tommy implored, and Tubbo’s lips parted with shock as he watched Tommy drop his own sword in surrender, the blade clattering to the ground, holding up his hands. He was bleeding through his bandaging, a dark, deep red seeping through the fabric. “ _Technoblade_ -”

Red eyes flashed with emotion, blinking furiously. Before Tommy could finish speaking, there was a flash of green. Eret let out a shout of warning as Dream dropped down in front of him, sneering and duel blades swishing and slashing in the sunlight.

Not again. Tubbo fisted his hands into his hair, stepping back in terror. Please. Not again. He stumbled, eyes wide as Eret and Fundy tried their best to fight Punz with their own blades. But the other, stronger, taller, better soldier was unstoppable, kicking and scratching like a feral animal ready to snap.

Sapnap was on Niki, the two of them locked into a swordfight. She shouted out in protest as the man knocked her blade from her fingers, trying to scramble out towards it when Sapnap ruthlessly tugged her back by her hair. Tears streamed down her face as she was dragged back by the man. Tubbo went to move, begged himself to move, but he was trapped in his body of stone, unmoving and unwilling. 

“You know who the traitor was, Tommy?” He heard Dream goad from somewhere. It felt like his voice was echoing, slithering about the air, from everywhere. He turned, desperately trying to find his friend, when his eyes fell on the hooded man himself, standing beside Technoblade as the two of them stalked towards Tommy. “The traitor was Wilbur.”

“ _What?_ ” Tommy snarled in confusion, dropping down into a fighting stance as Techno started running at him, trident spinning in his long, pale fingers.

“Where’s Wilbur?” Tubbo flinched when he felt a hand grab him. “Tubbo!” Quackity yelled, panicked and frustrated when all Tubbo could do was shake his head, fingers digging into Quackity’s arms. “Where the fuck is Wilbur?”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out but a choked, wet sob as the two boys watched Technoblade push Tommy onto the ground. Blond hair fell into his face as he cried out in pain, back making a terrible snapping sound. Techno shook his head, tongue running over his tusks as he slowly pointed the trident’s points at Tommy’s throat.

The boy on the ground didn’t screw his eyes shut in terror or flinch away. Tubbo just watched in horror as Tommy growled in defiance and pressed his own throat right against the sharp points. A bead of red dripped down his Adam’s apple.

Crimson eyes blinked, fingers on the trident stilling. Tommy pushed himself up onto his elbows, face flaring with betrayal, and tilted his head up, pale neck exposed. He was daring Techno, and Tubbo wondered if the cruel smirk on Tommy’s face would be the last thing he’d see.

Then the ground shook.

The earth beneath imploded, and the hillside the stage was built upon collapsed. Screams filled Tubbo’s ears as he grabbed onto Quackity, the ground threatening to eat the other boy up. He threw his arm around a column to his right, gripping onto Quackity’s shoulder with his other arm as the ground continued to open up. What the fuck? What the fuck was happening?

He ignored the way Quackity screamed in pain, because there was nothing he could do, he had to keep a hold of his shoulder, couldn’t let him fall. His ears were ringing, vision blurred as he felt his brain tilt inside of his skull.

Falling to his knees, he hauled Quackity up, the other boy gasping for breath as tears of agony burned down his face, clinging to his jaw. Tubbo pushed himself up, fingers grasping in dust and debris as he wildly searched for Tommy.

His eyes fell on a body lying in the middle of the clearing, discarded on an unstable piece of land. It looked ready to topple into the massive crater that had split L’Manberg. As he pushed himself up on wobble knees, and sprinted with all his might, all the trembling breath he had left, he thought maybe he heard someone screaming Wilbur’s name, a deep voice cutting through the ringing and screaming and exploding.

But all Tubbo could focus on was that body, blond hair dusted with ash. And when he reached it, and blue eyes blinked up to meet his, chest rising and falling with breath, he clung onto his brother. Tommy sat up, wheezing painfully, but still managed to throw his own arms around Tubbo, fingers tangling up into dark hair.

Tommy’s name died on Tubbo’s lips as more explosions sounded, the ground beneath them crumbling away. The orange banners from the stage fluttered down, down, down, until they reached the bottom of the chaos. Debris fell onto of them, weighing them down, burying them as more rocks fell. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to ready himself for it, for that inevitable darkness. But instead he felt a strong hand grip his, felt someone pulling him away from the soil that tumbled weightlessly to the rocky destruction below.

The two boys clung to each other as the annihilation settled, dust landing on their eyelashes, embedding itself into their hair, into their skin, their wounds. They clung to each other, and watched as their reclaimed home was swallowed up whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp, we had a little bit of comfort, right?
> 
> thanks for all the continued support guys! really helps keep me motivated <3


	30. Before the Wave Hits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can you imagine what I would do if I could do all I can?"
> 
> The fallen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh double update because I am in love with this chapter, hope you guys enjoy! (sorry in advance)

The grass was wet underneath his boots. The sky cast ropes around him as he left silently, incongruent, tilted and starving. With each step, a promise fell, shattering, his words to his family burning an invisible trail behind him.

His dark eyes ran along the ground as he walked over the hill. The same route he’d taken before, in real life, and in his dreams. He could trace each step perfectly. He thought that maybe, if he paid too much attention to the heather creeping amongst the grass, that they would invite him down with them, grinding against his bones.

He just needed to know if it was there. If it worked. Because he had promised. He’d promised Dream, promised Schlatt. Two old friends turned enemies. It had all been blown to the wind when they’d made that agreement. When they’d made the underhand agreement to each other.

_A warrior, followed by an ethereal golden light that threatened to choke that vague, flickering humanity in him out. For good._

_A leader, abandoned by all, more alcohol in his veins than blood. Yellow eyes haunted and pale, as if the whiskey was peeling them away, layer by layer._

_And whatever Will was. A brother to some, he supposed. A friend to others. And old friend, turned stranger maybe. He had been a musician once, but he hadn’t touched an instrument in what felt like years. He wondered if he still remembered how, if he could pluck the strings as beautifully as before._

_“Would you quit that fucking humming?” Dream sighed, tapping his knuckles along his ceramic mask. Will blinked at him, the seat he was perched on getting somehow more uncomfortable with each second that passed._

_They were in Schlatt’s fortress, sitting around a table meant for at least ten people. There was just the three of them. Plates of steak sat before them, peppercorn sauce bleeding over the meat. None of them had properly touched it._

_Wilbur had taken a bite, mostly out of the polite manners Phil had knocked into him as a child. He’d had to gulp it down. The rest of the meal sat unscathed. Schlatt had stabbed his knife into the thing with zeal, but as soon as his eyes had fallen on the filled glass to the side, the food had been abandoned, forgotten about. Dream hadn’t touched it at all, and although he was wearing his mask firmly on his face, Wilbur could feel the petty disgust radiating off of him as he cocked his head at the plate._

_“Nah,” Schlatt slurred from his seat, glass in his hand swaying. Wilbur watched as the honey colour liquid sloshed about, dangerously close to the rim. Schlatt didn’t seem to care, leaning the ornamental glass on his knee. “I like it, Will. Keep going.”_

_Wilbur wondered if Schlatt recognised it. Recognised the song. He’d played it for Schlatt before anyone else, that day on the pier with him and Niki. If he shut his eyes, he could still feel the sea air against his neck. He’d also played it for Phil before, but Technoblade was the only person who’d heard it more than a couple of times._

_His brother had loved that song, had always asked Wilbur to play that one when he snuck into his room at night, shutting the door softly behind his back. He would sing along, voice harsh and rough in comparison to Wilbur’s soft strums. Techno would sing Will’s lyrics of Theseus, eyes gleaming as Wilbur hummed along._

_“We’re not here to listen to Wilbur’s melodies,” Dream snarled, fist pounding onto the wooden table. The plates clattered, and Wilbur had to grab onto his glass to keep it from spilling. Dream let his glass spill, the dark liquid dripping over a tanned hand._

_“What a fucking waste,” Schlatt sighed, flopping back into his chair with a dramatic flair. “Why are we here then, Dreamy? Enlighten us.”_

_“Don’t call me that,” Dream snarled, teeth visible from under the mask. Schlatt grinned, pale eyes flickering with amusement before he hummed, pouring the last of his glass down his throat._

_“We all want the same thing, right?” Wilbur asked, shifting in his seat when the other two men looked at him. Dream’s psychotic mask glared at him; the crudely drawn smile haunting. Schlatt was smiling too, lazy grin on his face as he leaned forward with mock interest._

_“And what is that, Soot?”_

_“None of us want Tommy to win.”_

_Dream snorted. “Could’ve fooled me, Wilbur. You and the kid are inseparable. Practically fucking brothers.”_

_“I know,” he breathed, eyes dropping to the steak on the plate. A bead of blood welled up on it, dripping down slowly onto the ceramic. “That’s why I can’t let him win. He doesn’t understand, none of them do.”_

_He didn’t elaborate, didn’t explain himself. But the other two men didn’t seem to care as Dream nodded slowly. “I’ll fight for you then,” he said, tongue in his cheek as he turned to Schlatt. The President just hummed before he reached forward, plucking Will’s glass from its place._

_“You’ll fight for me.”_

_“And in return, you will hand over all of your power to me. Manberg becomes mine.”_

_Schlatt exhaled humourlessly, eyes flickering up towards Dream from over the rim of his glass. “Doesn’t seem like a great deal, buddy.”_

_“It’s either that or you are slaughtered by Tommy and his army, Schlatt,” Dream pointed out, folding his arms as he dropped his back into his chair. A blond curl dropped in front of the mask._

_“It’s a deal then,” Schlatt grinned, chipped teeth gleaming before he brought the glass to his lips, eyes shutting as he downed it in one._

_“I still want it blown up. Win or lose.”_

_Dream’s head snapped towards Wilbur. Schlatt didn’t look surprised. “You what?”_

_“I want it all blown up. To smithereens.” He licked his lips as he leaned towards Dream. “What? Do you_ not _want that?”_

_“I am…” he trailed off with a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head as he tapped his fingers against the table. “Not opposed to that.”_

_“So, it is settled then,” Wilbur mused, combing a hand through his hair before he stood. The legs of his chairs screamed against the stone floor._

_“It’s settled,” Dream repeated, offering out his hand as he stood as well. Wilbur took it, Dream’s scarred fingers feeling heavy in his own. When he pulled back, Dream turned, steps dense against the floor as he left. He didn’t look back. The door slammed shut behind him, the sound final and remorseless._

_“What happens to you then?” Wilbur found himself asking, even though he didn’t really know why, as he turned to look at Schlatt. “After all this.”_

_Schlatt shrugged, biting down on his bottom lip as he seemed to consider it. “I suppose I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”_

_“Goodbye Schlatt,” Will nodded, fingers dropping from the back of the chair as he turned to leave. He shoved his hands into his pockets in an attempt to keep them safe from the blistering cold after he pulled his beanie over his head. Schlatt didn’t say anything, but he started to softly sing under his breath, in beat to Will’s footsteps._

_The sound of Schlatt humming his song stayed in Wilbur’s head the whole cold, lonely walk back to the caves._

Wilbur rubbed at his eyes, as if he could rub out all the frustration in his body if he tried hard enough. Fuck, Schlatt wasn’t supposed to fucking die like that. Wasn’t supposed to have a fucking heart attack. He paused when he came to the entrance to his room. The bastard had known. He’d fucking known he was reaching the end, he must’ve.

He let go of a loose breath as he stepped forward. Schlatt may be dead, but Dream wasn’t. And he had promised him. And he had promised himself. He knew what he had to do.

Even with Tubbo in charge, sweet and kind Tubbo, L’Manberg couldn’t exist again. It was gone, was gone as soon as Schlatt tightened his fingers around the power, nails scratching along the walls that had once stood tall.

Will pulled the beanie from his head as he stepped into the tunnel. It had taken him hours to carve it out. His blood, sweat and tears had been wiped into this room, leaving behind a part of himself every time he came here. He wasn’t a fool; he knew he was too far gone. Just like L’Manberg, there was no reclaiming the man who had been Wilbur Soot.

It was all gone. His music had fallen with the walls. His words swallowed up by the raging fire that claimed their flag. His life torn apart like his family; shreds of bloodied flesh and warm laughter and red eyes and teenage hormones and royal, elegant bruises and old friends dying beneath the flames.

His eyes lowered as he stepped over the threshold into the room, hand slicing open as he swiped it down the sharp wall. He undid the baldric strapped against him, let his sword rattle to the ground.

The button was right there.

It had to be now.

The thing he built their nation for didn’t exist anymore. None of it existed anymore. It was all ruined, burned and discarded. Everything was all wrong, all ruined, all-

“What are you doing?”

_How in the fresh hell?_

Wil’s blood curdled. Reality blended into his cruel daydreams as he turned, back hitting the wall as his eyes met painfully familiar ones, every hue of kindness and blue. “Phil,” Will breathed, the name dying in his voice as the man in the threshold stepped forward.

Was it even real? Were they even real? Wilbur wondered if Phil would still be there if he just reached out, fingers grasping at paper men.

He didn’t do that, instead he forced his voice out of his raw and torn throat. “We won the war. Tubbo’s the president now.”

“Yeah,” Phil murmured, taking a slow step forward. Will’s eyes narrowed at the action. He wasn’t a fucking idiot. He understood how people approached crazed animals, animals they thought were dangerous, animals they thought might rip their throats out. And he understood Phil. Understood how Phil always tried to speak, tried to bring everything, everything that screamed and fought and tore at Will’s chest, all of that out into the open.

Phil looked like he wanted to speak, to spout some placating bullshit, when explosions sounded from outside. They both froze, heads turning towards the wall where the button was placed. It glared at Will as shouts of panic sounded, the words undistinguishable as Will’s ears were drowned with the pleading of the button, the urge in his head to press it.

Will pushed his lips together as he took a step forward, a step away from Phil. “Okay, I will admit…” he trailed off, clicking his tongue. He let his head fall slightly before he turned, making eye contact with Phil over his shoulder. “Do you know what this button is?” he asked, voice not sounding like his own. It felt unfamiliar, foreign in his own throat.

“Uh huh,” Phil hummed, that same soft smile still on his lips. “I do.”

“Have you heard the song, on the walls?” Will snapped his head upright, gesturing to the ink splattered across the walls. It was smeared from when he’d traced it with his fingers before it had dried properly. “Have you heard this song, Phil? See here, where it says there was a place?” he asked, ignoring the way his voice trembled, ignored the way he felt like a teenager again, standing in front of his big brother in their living room. “There _was_ a place, Phil. It isn’t there anymore.” He looked out towards L’Manberg, Manberg, whatever the fuck it was, even though he couldn’t see it.

The wall covered his view. The button covered his view.

“It _is_ there.” Will flinched when a hand touched his shoulder. Phil pulled back, green eyes wide and confused. Wilbur’s jaw trembled as he walked backwards until his back hit the rocky wall. It dug in painfully, but he didn’t dare move. “You’ve just won it back, Will.”

He bit back a laugh at that absurdity. There were so many things wrong with that statement, and Phil didn’t even realise. None of them realised. He hadn’t even done anything to help win it back. Tommy had lost his fingers, for fuck’s sake. And what had he done? Stood and watched.

Because for some fucking, godforsaken reason, he was the only one who understood that it was for nothing. That it was all for nothing, and that they were never, ever going to get L’Manberg back. It was impossible. It was already dead. Just like Schlatt. It was dead, and there was nothing any of them could fucking do about it.

“Phil,” Will sobbed out, head hanging, air around him like a noose. “I’m always so close to pressing this button, Phil. I have…I have been here like seven or eight times already. I have been here, like seven or eight times.” He paused as he heard voices shouting. Familiar voices. He touched his fingers against his lips before he pressed his ear against the wall, eyes fluttering shut.

His eyes opened up with a snap. He didn’t miss how Phil took a step back, a step away from him. “They’re fighting,” he laughed breathlessly, shaking his head. Trust his brothers to start an argument in the wake of a celebration. This was just another sign, couldn’t they see? Peace was impossible. They would always come back to this war, would always let history repeat itself. They were all pathetic in the face of it.

“And you want to just blow it all up?” Phil asked, brows furrowing kindly.

“I do,” Will admitted, voice feeling weightless for the first time in years. Like it wasn’t painful to speak. Like it wasn’t painfully to breathe anymore. “I…” he trailed off; eyes heavy in his skull.

“You fought so hard to get this land back,” Phil tried, and Will was this close to letting himself fall asleep to his brother’s voice. Was this close to collapsing into his arms and letting him carry him home, where he could breathe in the air of the sea and touch the waves, his feet flush against the sand. Where he could breathe and not have it hurt. Where he could open his eyes and not see all the pain, all the unrelenting chaos and destruction.

“I don’t even know if it works anymore, Phil. I could press it and it might not…” he trailed off, fingers brushing against the wood. It was whole under his calloused fingertips. Whole and solid. Real.

“Do you really wanna take that risk?” Phil asked. He didn’t notice as Wilbur turned to face him, his back now to the button. “There is a lot of tnt potentially connected to that button.” He didn’t notice as Wilbur took a step back, boots tapping against the stone floor.

“Phil, there was a saying by a traitor, once part of L’Manberg. I don’t know if you’ve heard of Eret?”

“Yeah,” he nodded along, kind eyes crinkling. And fuck, if Will didn’t feel that tiny scrape of guilt because Phil was so trusting, and Phil was so naïve. And Phil was so weak, they were all so weak. But that was okay, that was alright. Because only Will needed to be strong for them, only Will needed to end it all. Then they would all see. Then they could all breathe.

“He had a saying, Phil.” And he saw it in Phil’s eyes, saw the second he realised what was happening. Saw the horror dance across his face, saw the silent protest die on his lips as Will leaned backwards, fingers whole and solid as they pressed gently on the button.

“It was never meant to be.”

“No,” Phil screamed out in objection, reaching out for Will when the button clicked. Silence fell for a horrible, weighty second before that final hiss.

Will laughed, unrestrained, and looked out towards the direction of L’Manberg as he brought his hand up to salute. But suddenly something was toppling into the side of him, and the strength in Will’s legs was knocked out.

Everything went dark for a split second, as Will let himself be buried in the dark warmth. But when light streamed in, followed by the sound of rocks falling, cracking against the ground like skulls, he realised he had not in fact, been buried alive.

Phil had covered him with his own body. Had raised his strong arms over him, saving him from the grave the rocks had buried for him. Wilbur stayed on the ground, chest rising and falling as Phil stood up. His head lopped to the side, eyes wide with awe as he witnessed his wave of destruction.

It was gone. It was all gone up in smoke, the grey dance working its way up into the endless sky. His vision was blurred, but Wilbur didn’t need to see it to know it was gone. Didn’t need to see it to know he had finally succeeded. He could breathe.

“Oh my god.” Phil’s hands dug into his hair. “ _Will_!” he exclaimed, and Wilbur watched as tears pricked in green eyes. He pushed himself up to his feet, ignoring the way he swayed, Ignored the tension screaming in his bones. Ignored the blood slowly making its way down from his hairline towards his heart. “It’s all gone.”

“My L’Manberg, Phil!” he screamed out, let his raw voice, his cracking breath fill his lungs and exhale magnificently. “My unfinished symphony, forever unfinished!” Now this was his voice. This was the voice of Wilbur Soot. Broken and cracked and dying in his own throat.

“If I can’t have this, Phil. No one can have this.”

His voice rung out, as loud and as untouched as the birds’ calling.

“My god,” Phil breathed, shaking his head in disbelief. The smoke cleared, and the two of them were completely on show as they stood in the ruined room, slightly above L’Manberg. Wilbur’s heart squeezed painfully. Everything hit him painfully. It was like his own bones, his own blood, had turned against him, and was doing its very best to assassinate him from the inside out, peel him back layer by layer.

Wilbur was hit with a stark realisation when a glint of silver hit his eye.

“Phil, kill me.”

His brother turned to him, face a cast of horror as Wilbur snatched up his discarded sword. He hadn’t used it in the battle. He would use it now. “Phil, kill me with this sword. Phil, do it now,” he begged, voice tearing at his flesh, piece by piece. It felt like his skull was splintering while he was still breathing, like the flecks of bone were scraping against his head, itching to pierce flesh and swallow him from outside in.

“Look, they all want you to!” he screamed, gesturing wildly at the ghosts who followed him. The ghosts that followed him always. The ghosts of his mother and father that he had abandoned. The ghosts of Tommy and Tubbo, the kids he had let die to war. The ghost of Dream, the friend he had forced to turn enemy, the blond-haired kid he had set out to make a new life with. The ghost of Schlatt, a soulmate he had let rot. The ghost of himself, the Wilbur he had had to murder as he kicked and screamed, because no one else had stepped up to the truth.

“You’re my brother!” Phil objected, shouting back as Will violently shoved the blade in Phil’s direction. The older man refused to take it. “No matter what you do I’ll always, I can’t-

“Goddamnit Phil!” Wilbur shouted, furious and frustrated and so fucking tired. Phil clamped his mouth shut, lips trembling. “Look how much work went into this. And it’s gone.” Will took one last breath in, holding the sword out calmly. It lay on his hands, gleaming perfectly in the golden sunlight. “Do it.”

Phil’s jaw stopped juddering and he nodded softly. Will watched as he opened his arms out, lips tugging up into a wavering smile. All the violence left his body as Phil wrapped his fingers tightly around the sword. All the fight took its last shuddering breath as it seeped from Will’s body, along with the blood that was trickling down from the crown of his head.

_“What’s wrong?” Will asked, brows furrowing as his oldest brother smiled down at him, eyes watering slightly. “Why are you crying, Phil? Are you okay? Oh my god.” He started panicking, letting his guitar fall from his lap as he stood, racing over to the blond man who was simultaneously laughing brightly and wiping tears away with the back of his hand._

_“I’m just proud of you, kid,” Phil smiled; kind, familiar eyes crinkling._

_“Oh.” Will paused in his tracks, arms falling to his side. He knew what being proud of someone was. He was proud of Techno for his uncanny ability to take life as it came. Proud of Phil for looking after two teenagers who had turned up on his doorstep without any hesitation. Proud of his new friends that he’d met a month ago; Schlatt, who seemed to laugh like it didn’t cost him anything and Niki, who seemed to give out kindness like it didn’t cost her anything._

_He’d heard people say it to their children before, heard Phil say it to Techno a month ago, when he’d beaten some asshole up. Well, he hadn’t been proud of him for_ that _part specifically, but he had still said it. “I’m always going to be proud of you, kid. You don’t need to go around beating up dickheads to prove yourself to me. Remember how we met? Six months ago? How you were saving your brother’s life? Was so proud then.”_

 _“I_ broke _into your house to do that.” Will had shifted from behind Techno’s door, ear to the door as he heard the other boy pout. He could picture the smile on Phil’s face._

_“And it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Meeting you and Wilbur. And I’m proud of you now too, Techno.”_

_So, Will knew what being proud was. Was just that no one had ever said it to him. He wondered if it was meant to consume you like it was currently consuming him, sending waves of warmth down his veins._

_“Come ‘ere,” Phil laughed, shaking his head in awe. Will nodded, throwing his arms around his oldest brother. He buried his face in shaggy blond hair, thanking the gods that they’d given him Techno, and given them both Phil._

“Do it,” Will begged. He turned, regretting it instantly once he heard a torturous scream of protest.

Techno was sprinting towards them, somehow avoiding all the chaos as he weaved through the throng of panicked people crying out for anyone to save them. No one was coming. He caught a glimpse of Tommy in the anarchy, watched as the young boy clung onto Tubbo like a life raft. Watched as Tubbo threw his arms over Tommy as more debris fell, both of them trying their best to protect the other. Ash and broken pieces of stone surrounded the two boys as they clung to each other desperately, untouchable as they united.

Will watched as Techno sprinted past them. Watched as he threw his trident to the ground, eyes welling up as he shook his head violently. His hair framed his sharp face, locks of pink brushing against his lips as he yelled out, every word apart from Wilbur’s own name indistinguishable in the screaming wind, the screaming people, the screaming destruction.

He looked so young.

He’d lost his red cape, and was just wearing a torn, bloodied shirt, more grey than white now. The fabric was mottling, stray thread decorating his broad shoulders.

He was going to catch a cold.

He wasn’t going to make it in time. They both knew it. And he was still running.

Techno would understand why he was doing this, why he had to do this. He’d understand.

“ _Phil_ ,” Wilbur pleaded as he turned back, letting out a wet, choked laugh. “Please. Do it.”

“I love you,” Phil breathed, barely able to get the words out, when Will took a faltering step closer. He kept his arms open, biting on his trembling bottom lip.

_Will peeked up over soft pink hair with eyes painted in drowsiness. Phil was still awake too, green eyes reflecting the dancing flames from the fireplace. Techno was sandwiched between the two of them, head resting on Phil’s shoulder as his chest fell rhythmically, eyes fluttering in sleep._

_Phil turned, eyes scanning over Techno as if to just check, one more time, that their brother was safe and home after three months. It was the longest Techno had ever been gone, and it hadn’t hit Will how much he’d truly missed him until the idiot knocked on the door, laughing that rare, stress-free laugh when Will and Phil had toppled into him, arms a mess as they grabbed onto their brother._

_“Hey,” Phil whispered, eyes moving to focus on Will as he rubbed soothing circles into Techno’s shoulder. “Hey,” Will giggled back, dropping his own head down onto Techno’s lap, softly as to not wake him._

_“What time do you think it is?” Phil asked, glancing outside. It was pitch black past the glass pane; the only thing Will could see was his own reflection smiling happily back at him._

_“D’know,” Will shrugged, eyes fluttering shut, struggling to keep them open. “Doesn’t matter, right? Not right now.”_

_“No,” Phil nodded, tips of his lips brushing up into an easy smile. “I guess it doesn’t.”_

_“What are you two whisperin’ about?” They both snorted as two red eyes flicked from Will to Phil, lazy brow raised in question. Techno didn’t move from his position, not bothering to stifle a yawn as he combed two absent hands through Will’s hair, scratching against his scalp comfortingly._

_“How much better it was when you were gone,” Will grinned, still whispering even though the three of them were awake now. It felt more special like this. Like the whole world was asleep, like the whole world was dead, and it was just him and his brothers._

_Kings of the world._

_“That is_ not _true,” Phil snorted, flicking Will on the nose. “Does anyone want hot cocoa?”_

_Will went to nod enthusiastically, but paused when Techno spoke, voice even grainer than normal. “Maybe later,” he murmured, nestling in closer to Phil, pulling the blanket further around his shoulders. “I’m comfy ‘ere.”_

Will murmured softly when he draped his arms around Phil, dropping his head onto the other man’s shoulder. He gripped onto his cloak, fabric familiar in his fingers. Phil smelled like Phil. Like the salt of the sea and fresh strawberries coated in cream. Smelled like home.

He gasped softly when he felt the blade push through his stomach, flesh tearing apart like a fresh sheet being ripped apart, fabric fraying.

Phil sobbed loudly as Will’s knees buckled.

His brother didn’t let go of him, but he felt the Phil tense as he pulled the blade out again with a sickening, sliding sound. Will didn’t see it, but he heard the sword clatter to the ruined ground. It echoed around his mind painfully, blocking out all the voices Will was desperately trying to remember.

Phil guided him to the ground, still holding him in his arms, even as Will let go of him, unable to hold on anymore. He smiled when Phil pulled back slightly, eyes watering even as the older man smiled back at him. He held Will up with one arm, lightly pushed his hair back with the other, before fingers dug into damp, brown hair.

Will opened his mouth to speak. To say I love you one last time, to assure Phil it wasn’t his fault, to tell his brother that this is what he needed. To tell Tommy sorry, that he tried to be better for him, for his little brother. To tell him to tell Techno he couldn’t have asked for a better life-partner, a better brother. To tell him how glad he was he ran away with him, ten years ago.

But no words came out as his lips stayed hanging open, brown eyes glazed over with what Phil could pretend was wonder, staring up at the clouds as they danced in the skies above them.

He went limp in Phil’s arms.

His hand fell from his brother’s arm.

_“You can cry, you know?” Will murmured. He said it humouredly, but neither of the men missed the sincerity in his voice as Phil tightened his arms around his brother. “I get you’re gonna miss me. I know I’m your favourite.”_

_“Love you both equally,” Phil snorted as he pulled back, holding Will at arm’s length by the shoulders, as if he just wanted to look at him once more. “You know that.”_

_"_ _Sure,” Will snorted, placing a hand on Phil’s. “And you know I’m gonna be fine.”_

_“I know.” Phil smiled, but Will didn’t miss the way his throat bobbed stiffly. Phil was a crier. Him and Techno both knew this. But Phil cried when they gave him a thoughtful birthday gift, or when Will sang him his new songs, or when Techno returned home. He never cried when they were in danger, when he was scared. Never wanted to worry them. Even if they were both seventeen now, the same age Phil had been when he’d found them burgling his house._

_“I just worry,” Phil added, clicking his tongue._

_“I know,” Will nodded, trying his best to be comforting as he squeezed Phil’s hand. “I’ll visit. And write.”_

_“Oh, you fucking better write,” Phil laughed, lightly knocking Will on the head. “And you’ll be visiting for every birthday, every holiday.”_

_“And you can come visit me,” Will added._

_“Your new home.”_

_“_ This _is my home.” It came out more defensively than he meant it to, shocking himself at how guttural that reaction had been. Yeah, he wanted adventure, wanted something more than this seaside town. If Techno could run about the different continents every other week, slaying beasts, visiting royalty, cementing himself as a legend, why couldn’t Will? He wanted a legacy too. Wanted his own name to be sung in songs centuries from now. But it wasn’t like he was abandoning his brothers._

_Sudden, unfamiliar dread settled over him, warm and heavy in his gut. Fuck, was he abandoning them? He hadn’t thought this through, had been blinded by the tales of quests Dream had spun him. He couldn’t leave Phil and Techno. That would be like leaving behind his own fucking soul._

_“Your home doesn’t have to be a place, Will,” Phil said softly, obviously picking up on Will’s new panic. “Home is a feeling.” Will nodded slowly, sighing as the older man wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulder. He was being insane. He wasn’t abandoning his family. They understood. They still loved him. He still loved him. Nothing was changing. And he needed this. Needed to take the ticket of a lifetime Dream had offered him._

_“You’ll always have a home here,” Phil told him._

_“Thought it didn’t have to be a place?” Will grinned, brows quirking. His older brother rolled his eyes, snorting lightly. But then a sort of seriousness came over him, a weight taking over his soft features._

_“I’m not talking about the town, or this house,” Phil said. “I was talking about us. Me and Techno.”_

_“Us.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if I cry writing it you must suffer with me
> 
> hope my og doomsday readers liked the ending :D


	31. A Familiar Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do not interfere with an army that is returning home.”
> 
> Blood for the blood god.

_“They won’t forgive you,” Dream pointed out from where he sat in the tree. Technoblade licked along his tusks but said nothing. “There’s no turning back. No more family for the blade,” he laughed, stopping short of the familiar wheeze._

_Technoblade nodded, watched as Dream let his hood fall from his head. He wasn’t wearing the mask, didn’t need to in front of Techno. He’d seen his face years ago. Could still remember the shock on Dream’s face when it had fallen, bouncing once off of the floor they’d stood upon._

_Now, the same face was grinning down at him, eyes bright. “You want to betray them, to ruin them. Even if they win through their own blood, sweat and tears.”_

_“I do.” He didn’t back down from the accusation Dream lay down at his feet, not as the other man jumped down from the tree, a flash of green and freckles and pure, untamed arrogance._

_“And why should I help you?” Dream hummed, face a candid cast of glee. As if Technoblade had just handed him the world. He probably had. He was probably giving more than he was asking for. But he needed Dream. He couldn’t take on all of Pogtopia on his own. But with Dream, they might not even retaliate. They might just listen and surrender._

_“'Cause your land has gone to shit. I’ll lose my allies after this,” he agreed. “But you’ve already lost all of yours. George, Sapnap. You’ve abandoned them,” Technoblade said plainly. Anger flashed over Dream’s face, lips contorting into a scowl, all of his past humour gone. “You need to win this fight. You might not.”_

_“But if I help you,” Dream mused, scratching the bottom of his jaw as he walked circles around Technoblade. “I win either way.”_

_“Yes.”_

_Dream hummed thoughtfully, the sun hitting his blond hair as he jumped from foot to foot. "Have I ever told you about my sister?" he suddenly asked, brow flicking upwards._

_"Nope," Techno replied, voice as low and as bored as always._

_"I've not seen her in a while," Dream told him. "In too long. She's a bit like Tommy, actually. Loud, excitable. Way too fearless for a kid." He paused for a moment, green eyes flicking down to meet Techno's. He wondered what reaction Dream was looking for. What he was trying to do with this. "_ _I suppose all kids are fearless in their own ways."_

_"What're you tellin' me about your sister for?" he asked, lowering his brows in annoyance. Dream just shrugged in response before he nodded._

_“Alright then,” he grinned, teeth glinting. He bristled when Dream extended his long arm, fingers twitching as he waited._ _Techno took his hand in his own, shaking it once and then dropping it, hands disappearing back into his cape. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Bacon.”_

He should’ve listened, should’ve payed attention more to Dream’s words to Tommy. Should’ve realised that the unbelievable glee on Dream’s face wasn’t just from Techno’s offer of allyship, but because it worked beautifully with another offer he’d received.

_“You know who the traitor was, Tommy?”_

The trident was cool under his touch as he dropped down beside Dream, the other man standing without a weapon, without any of his armour. Techno didn’t know where it had all gone, or why Dream was now standing in the chaos unarmed. But he didn’t particularly care. He didn’t especially want to harm anyone himself; Dream could do what he liked. He just needed them to see, needed them to understand.

He walked towards Tommy, soil crunching under his boots. _“The traitor was Wilbur.”_

Tommy’s face contorted in surprise, but Techno didn’t even acknowledge it as he stalked forward, boots pushing off against the ground as he sprinted. Dream was just goading him, Wilbur wasn’t even here, he wasn’t the traitor.

Technoblade was the traitor. Because he wouldn’t let his family corrupt themselves blindly. He was their saviour.

Tommy snarled as they met in the middle of the clearing, the fight around them blurring in chaos and screams. The sound was familiar to Technoblade, felt almost like coming home. He was one of the few people here who had been in battles before. Unlike Tommy, who fell as soon as Techno swiped out with his weapon. The kid was just that, a kid. He was naïve and trusting. Believed he could find the good in people, believed he could save them. He didn’t understand that there was no good or evil. Just people who did shitty things.

Technoblade would have to be the one to make him understand. Will had failed at that. Had tried to shelter the boy. Had tried his best to keep him safe from the cruel scythe of the real world.

Technoblade had seen the real world. Had seen it on battlefields in the dessert, as two armies met in a clash, attempting to steal the treasures from a temple before the other. Had seen blood drip between every grain, had slashed his own blade through throats, flesh tearing as he had turned on the own army he’d been hired for. Shouts of protest as his hair flew behind him, bodies falling as he skidded into the temple himself. Treasure in his pockets, money stuffed in his satchel. He had leaped up, fingers lightly pushing on the pressure plate. And he had let it implode, taking down the two armies with it.

There was no honour in the real world. In the world outside these cities. In these lands Dream had claimed for himself, in the lands Tommy had stolen for himself.

Wind swiped at his face, slashing against his skin as he pointed the weapon at Tommy’s throat. He would understand now, the importance of life. The importance in not trusting anyone blindly, in not believing that everything would be okay unless you made it okay.

Tommy snarled, and Techno watched as he moved forward, pressing his pale throat into the points of the trident. His blue eyes were lined with tears of anger, of frustration. Techno’s tusks bared as a droplet of blood fell down Tommy’s neck, leaving a trail of crimson before it disappeared down his ruined shirt.

Techno’s fingers tightened on the weapon; fingers strangled with white. And then he felt hell open up beneath him. Retribution for the destruction for the chaos, for the spilled blood that had poisoned the earth beneath them.

He lost Tommy in the confusion, the soil opening up right beneath his feet. He managed to grip onto the ledge before he could fall with the buildings and the terrain, legs swinging aimlessly as he used his trident to haul himself up. People were screaming, and Techno shivered on his knees, the icy wind ripping at his flesh.

His eyes fell on Tommy and Tubbo, the two boys clinging to each other. He pushed himself up from his knees, fingers stiff around the trident. He took a step towards them, breath steady, chest rising and falling rhythmically. Another step. His eyes drifted up, glancing over the cliffside where the stage had been built upon. The stage had collapsed into the crater that had torn through the land, banners destroyed, wood splintered. His eyes fell on a hole in the hillside, two people standing.

And he realised what had just happened.

Realised why Dream had said what he’d said. Dream had known. Had known that Wilbur and Techno had both intended to sell out L’Manberg. And he hadn’t told them.

It was Wilbur. And Phil. On the hill. They looked like shadows. If Phil hadn't looked towards him, met his eyes with caution, Techno maybe would've thought they were just conjurations of his mind. Before the initial confusion of why the fuck Phil was _here_ in L’Manberg could kick in, Techno focused in on what he was holding.

An iron sword, licked in dirt and dust from the explosion, aimed at Wilbur’s heart.

The scream ripped from his throat before he could even think. His heart tore at him, pleaded with him to run faster as his legs thudded torturously slow against the ground. Wilbur’s eyes flicked towards him, but he didn’t react as Techno called to him, Wilbur’s name raw against his throat.

Screaming wind pushed against him as he ran, legs moving rhythmically. He ran faster than he ever had. Ran with more of a purpose than he had ever had. “Wilbur!” he yelled, hair falling in his mouth, coated with sweat and blood as tears lined his eyes. “ _Wilbur_!”

Technoblade never begged. Never pleaded. He never usually had to. People who had heard of his name usually just gave him what he asked for, or he fought for it, tooth and nail. Or, if it was to do with Phil or Will, he normally just gave up easily. He never really figured out how to say no to the men who had become his brothers.

But now, as he scrambled like a wild, terrified animal towards his brothers who were still so, so far away, he begged. He openly pleaded with his screams of protest. “Wilbur, please. Phil, wait! Please! Stop! _Stop_!” he screamed, the wind eating away his words. The screams of panic swallowed his own voice up, the distance between the three men chasing his begs into nothing.

He took to praying, breathing heavily through attempting to supress the sobs that threatened to wrack his body. Please, he silently whispered to anyone that would listen.

To the gods of old that Phil had spoken of around the fireplace. Spinning tales of their hair spun from gold. Their arrows that could not miss. The beasts they would slay. The love they murdered for, drained oceans for, hung stars for, lived for. He prayed to them as he watched Wilbur take a step towards Phil. Brown curls hung limply as he opened his arms.

To the gods Wilbur had sung songs of, fingers lightly strumming his guitar. The gods who fought river monsters. Who killed thousands in a swipe of anger, who could travel universes and ascend time and space itself. Techno begged them desperately to spare his brother.

Wilbur draped his arms around Phil’s neck. Please. Head lolled onto shoulders covered by green. Please, please, no. A movement, covered by Phil’s thick, Winter cloak. Techno had bought him that cloak years ago. He did not stop running, even though the voices in his head, the voices he had spent his whole life pushing out of his mind, told him what had happened.

All of a sudden, as Phil and Wilbur dropped to the ground, arms still entangled, the voices all rushed out, screaming and ripping at his soul.

_He is dead. He has been killed. He is dead. He is gone._

He did not stop running. And then Phil pulled the blade from Wilbur’s chest, and it came out painted in horrible, terrible amounts of red and slivers of guts and muscle and flesh. He paused then, knees threatening to buckle, and watched as Phil pushed back a dark lock from Wilbur’s head. Watched as Wilbur’s pale and scarred hand fell to the ground. Watched as a single, restrained tear fell from Phil’s eyes, watched as he pressed a kiss to Wilbur’s head.

He had never believed in the same Gods as his brothers might have done. Never believed in anything other than what he saw.

The sound that tore itself from Techno’s lips was hardly human.

Red. A blinding, furious red. It sparked through him, and it was not human. It was from the other part of him, the part he had shoved down. The part that followed the voices in his mind, the part that craved and screamed for blood.

_He is dead. He is dead. He is dead._

The voices screamed at him, slashing their claws across his lungs, slitting and shredding the breath from him. He turned from Phil, who was still cradling the corpse of their dead brother close to his chest. Instead, he let out another scream of his own, painted in wrath and fury and emotion, and snatched up a discarded sword.

He wiped it across his legs, ignoring the way his clothes felt like a second skin. Ignored the way his skin didn’t feel like skin, but more like a disgusting sheen coating his body. He snarled as he stalked towards the massive ravine Wilbur had blown up into the land. Weightless, he leapt across it, the soil scrambling away to the bottom of the ruin when he landed on the very edge.

The chaos around him was ongoing as he pulled the skull from his pocket. It was small, perfect in his palm. The voices in his head sneered, licking themselves over Techno’s mind as he blinked down at the black, twisted and warped head in his hand. His sword was heavy in the other. His heart was heavy in his chest, endlessly falling to nowhere. For it had nowhere to go. It was trapped in his ribs, just as he was trapped here, on this mortal plain.

_Yes. Kill them. Kill them all. Show them no mercy. They killed your brother. It was them that forced this. They forced his hand. Kill them. Kill them all._

There was one god Techno believed in. One god he had heard others sing songs of, like Wilbur on his guitar. One god he had heard passed around campfires by soldiers, like Phil to his two younger brothers by the roaring fire. The god he had made himself. The god he had made himself; stalking through wars coated in blood, slashing through duels with ease, returning home richer and prouder, but always missing his friends with the same heavy heart.

_Blood for the Blood God._

Technoblade stood, hair flying behind him in the wind like an omen. He stood, face like stone when Tommy’s eyes fell on him. Stood as the younger boy’s eyes widened with horror.

Wilbur had considered him a brother. This teenager, petulant and snarky in all his childish glory. This kid, who had pushed and pushed and pushed. And had led to all this. Who had led to Wilbur’s death. Who had blindly led them all into a war. Who had blindly led them all into a war twice.

No more.

“Stop it now,” Tommy shouted despite the roaring wind. Technoblade aimed his sword up at Tommy, tightening his hold on the skull. They all knew what he had to do. All knew what he was going to do.

“You all listen to me, right now. Right now,” he screamed, voice cracking and wavering as people crowded around Tommy, lips parted in shock. None of them had seen Wilbur fall. None of them knew. None of them understood. None of them understood that they had brought this upon themselves. Their faces blurred, and Technoblade realised with a dullness that he barely recognised them. The people he had spent more than half a year with. All of their faces blurred together. 

“Stay back,” he warned, voice hoarse and tired, as Tommy took a step forward. In his peripheral, he was aware of Dream dropping down beside him, arms in his pockets as he waited. Technoblade refused to acknowledge him. The man who had lied. Had lied about what he intended to do. Hadn’t told him about Will.

_Blood for the Blood God._

“Techno, you don’t have to do this man. Not with them. We almost had it,” Tommy begged, he wasn’t wearing any armour, and there was still blood swiped across his neck from when Techno had pressed his trident into his throat.

“Alright, Tommy,” Technoblade snarled. “Do you think you’re a hero, is that what this is?”

They were all deluded, in their ideals of freedom and honour. They didn’t understand what it was really like, to win something through blood, to win something through losing a part of yourself.

“I just wanted L’Manberg,” Tommy tried.

“You wanted power,” Techno accused, gesturing at him, at all the ruin that surrounded them with his blade.

“I didn’t, I just wanted-”

“Tommy, you just had a coup!” Techno exclaimed. “A hostile government takeover and then immediately instilled yourself as president and then you gave it to your friend!” He maybe would’ve laughed if he didn’t feel so burningly empty inside.

“Look, the thing about this world, Tommy, is that good things don’t happen to heroes.”

_Blood for the Blood God. They killed your brother. He is dead. And with him everything soft and beautiful and kind._

“Let me tell you a story, Tommy,” Techno said, a familiar song humming on the wind. The song Will used to play, face young and hopeful, devoid of scars and cruelty. His brother, his kind and beautiful brother, had not been made for the world. Not for the emptiness of the world. Not the brother who had lived by his music. 

“A story of Theseus.”

Beside Tommy, Niki faltered, face crumpling. Techno watched; lip curled as a tear fell down her face. Recognition was painted across her soft features, grey eyes pooling with treachery. She gripped a hand to her chest, as if she might pull her heart from her chest. Technoblade wondered if she'd do the same to him.

“His country was in danger, and he sent himself forward into enemy lines, he slayed the minotaur and saved his city. You know what they did to him, Tommy?”

Tommy’s reply was heavy, came after a hard swallow. “What did they do?”

“They exiled him.” Blue eyes flashed with betrayal. “He died in disgrace, despised by his people. That’s what happens to heroes, Tommy. If you want to be a hero Tommy, that’s fine.”

He was finality. He was the end.

_Blood for the Blood God._

“Technoblade, don’t.” Tommy was tripping over his own words, reckless as he stepped forward, arm outstretched as if Techno might take it. “We’re so close. I’m not the hero. No one’s the hero. Come on Techno, we’re your family.”

The voices unleashed themselves at that. Screaming and fighting and roaring with wrath. _He is not your family. Your family is dead. Lying abandoned in this destruction and ruin that their believes brought upon you all._

“You want to be the hero, Tommy?” Technoblade laughed manically, crimson eyes gleaming with the reflection of the man he'd been yesterday dying inside.

“Then die like one.”

The skull shattered on the ground as Technoblade threw it, and the monster came out of the crushed bone with a blood-curdling howl. It whirled in the air for a moment, its shadows revengeful. And then it descended upon the people standing on the brink.

The crater shortly filled with water, as the wither destroyed the banks of the L’Manberg lake, opening up rushing waves. It dragged the debris and wreckage along with its unforgiving waves, flooding the grass that hadn’t fallen to the explosion.

Dream let out a whoop of victory as he followed after the wither, his own blade slashing through the air. He practically flew through the air, head tipped back as he roared with laughter, fighting the people who tried to stop the monster in its path. Techno watched, as Dream ruthlessly dragged Tommy down from where he’d climbed to get a better shot at the wither. The boy tumbled through the air, shouting out in panic when he fell into the water.

Technoblade fought alongside Dream, but it was without heart, as the voices in his head died down, satisfied with the amount of destruction brought about today. His chest felt heavy as his sword fell through the air, and he watched as Quackity, clutching his shoulder, brought the last blow upon the monster. It died with a pitiful shriek, bursting into ash. It was dead, but the damage was done.

L’Manberg was truly gone. Reduced to nothing but a lake that had filled the cavity of chaos. He supposed Wilbur would have been proud.

He stood, letting the blade coated in unknown blood fall from his hand. His eyes latched onto a man in green, run towards a boy coated in ichor, black and merciless. It made him look otherworldly, like a corpse that had dragged itself from its own grave by the nails. He watched as Tommy grabbed desperately onto Phil, face scanning the destruction with wide eyes.

Techno knew Tommy would not find who he was looking for.

He turned his back on them, picking his way through the ruin. His eyes searched, looking for the same thing Tommy was. But Techno was searching for a corpse, an impression of a man who had lived and loved and sung.

He was looking for the carcass of his brother before it rotted. His body was weary and tired, and he could still feel the voices lingering in his mind, cruel against his skull. But he didn’t stop, even as the night fell. He just kept wandering, turning over bricks and boulders, waiting to meet glazed over brown eyes.

A familiar song, one of a fallen hero, fell from his lips as he walked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the lovely comments guys!


	32. Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The King is only fond of words, and cannot translate them into deeds.”
> 
> :0

George used to think he wanted someone like a God.

Ever since he was a child, and would watch unremarkable people in his village, living unremarkable lives. He would read, and his heart would ache for something other than the life he had.

A baker’s son who helped his family, whose only adventures came from when he would sneak away to trace the pages of his books and read adventures from others’ lives. He taught himself to shoot a bow, carving the thing himself from wood he’d save from their fireplace. It was flimsy and ugly, but it did the job. Hauling himself up trees, shooting crappy little glass bottles, leaping over rivers that spat up at him, those were the rare moments were George could believe his life was meaningful, was as close to adventure he’d reach.

And then one day, he found someone in his forest.

_It had been a long day. It was nearing the holiday season, and it seemed like everyone in his village, buried right at the neck of a grand, ancient forest, wanted warm bread and pastries for the festivities. He tightened his hold on his bow, jumping the fence that the village had placed up in an attempt to stop people wandering into the forest unnecessarily. Wolves and the undead prowled the forest ground they said, amongst the dying trees and crisping leaves._

_But George was fifteen and invincible._

_He moved through the forest, trailing the same path he always walked. He paused when he came to the river, balking when he saw someone crouched along the banks, tanned hands washing themselves in the clear water. George’s throat bobbed, and his fingers instinctively tensed on his bow, hand moving to the quiver of arrows at his back._

_And then he felt a coolness press against his neck._

_Someone clicked their tongue behind him. “I wouldn’t.”_

_George breathed slowly, keeping his eyes ahead, not daring to turn. He just watched, body cold and still against the warmth pressed to his back, as the boy by the river stood, scanning the area in front of him, before he moved deeper into the bushes. The last thing George saw before the kid disappeared was a piece of white fabric being swallowed up by the flora._

_“Drop the bow.”_

_George pressed his lips tightly together, screwing his eyes shut in frustration before he let the weapon fall from his fingers. It fell with silence, dropping softly onto the moss below. He couldn’t help the exhale that left his lips when the steel was removed from his neck._

_His fingers drifted up to his own neck as he dared to turn around, blinking when he was met with a pair of eyes, he knew must’ve been green, but looked to him like the colour of the wheat stored in his family’s bakery._

_“Who are you?” George frowned, watching as the boy who must’ve been the same age as he, crouched down and picked up his bow. A spark of anger shot through him as the boy curled his lips at the weapon he had made for himself. He shot his hand out to snatch it back, but the boy moved quicker, the hand grasping the dagger coming up in warning._

_George let his arm fall with a snarl. “Dream,” the boy suddenly said, looking up at George through dark eyelashes. He peered down at the boy, brows crinkling together. He was about a couple inches shorter than George, with scruffy blond hair that seemed to stick up in every direction. He didn’t recognise him. There was no way this kid, with tanned skin and blond hair came from his village surrounded by spruce, where everyone’s skin was milky and smiles repressed._

_“_ What _?”_

_“My name’s Dream.”_

_“No, it isn’t,” George scoffed, frowning when ‘Dream’ blinked up at him. He couldn’t tell if it was amusement or annoyance that was drifting across the other boy’s face. “Who names their kid Dream?”_

_“What’s it to you?” Dream rolled his eyes before he tossed George back his bow with no warning. He stumbled forward, but he caught it in his outstretched arms, nonetheless._

_“You’re not from here,” George said. Dream nodded, tilting his head as he watched him curiously. The boy had what had to be a million freckles across his face, dripping all the way down his neck. George glanced down and was sure enough met with hands prickled with golden freckles too._

_“I’m from the coast,” Dream said vaguely, taking a step closer to George. He would’ve taken his own step back, but he was too busy trying to plot where the coast was in his mind. The nearest coast was miles away from his village. He’d never been, had never gone further than the forest, but his father had, and it had taken him weeks to make his way home._

_Just as George opened his mouth to ask why he was here, and who that mysterious boy by the river had been, and why he had held a goddamn knife to his neck, Dream’s knuckles were brushing against his face. He stepped away in confusion and protest, watching as Dream just laughed at him, yellow eyes glinting._

_“You had flour on your face. Looked like an idiot.” George’s lips parted in shock and infuriation, but again, before he could speak, Dream’s voice was filling up the air. “There’s a village near here, right?” George could only find it in him to nod wordlessly. “Finally. Me and my friend’ve been looking for one for days now. We’re running low on food.”_

_“Your friend?” George asked. Dream nodded, gesturing vaguely down to the river with long fingers._

_“Sapnap. You tried to kill him with your bow.”_

_“I didn’t-” George spluttered on his words as Dream raised an eyebrow at him. “I wouldn’t ever_ kill _someone,” he breathed, as if merely saying the words was a crime. Dream just rolled his eyes, like that was the stupidest thing George could’ve said._

_He watched as the strange boy started picking his way through the woods, stepping over upturned roots and ducking under stray branches._

_“What-where are you going?” He found himself calling out, found himself being pleased when the boy glanced over his shoulder back at George._

_“To find Sapnap. And then you’re going to show us to your village.” Maybe it would’ve sounded like a threat if the other boy wasn’t grinning lopsidedly, the dagger that had previously been pressed against George’s neck nowhere to be seen._

George had shown Dream and Sapnap to his village. They’d stayed for a week, dropping down enough gold on the innkeeper’s bar for a month’s stay. No one knew, but also no one questioned, how two fifteen-year-old boys had more riches than the entire village put together.

They had stayed for a week, and George hadn’t left their side the whole time; hunting with them, listening to their stories, helped them plan their upcoming route. They wanted to slay the Ender Dragon, they told George, young eyes wide.

He wasn’t particularly courageous, or fearless. But a newfound spark had burst through George’s skin when they asked him to join them. His parents hadn’t tried to stop him, busy with their four other children and their business. His father had just handed him his own bow, and his mother had pressed a kiss to his temple, carding fingers through his hair and telling him to write.

They never made it to the Ender Dragon then. Dream received a letter from his family back at the coast. His sister was ill, he had told George and Sapnap. She might not make it, he’d whispered. They’d turned on their heels then, and George had followed the two boys back to their home. He’d learned then what Dream’s priorities were. How he would drop the prospect of fame and riches for the people he loved.

When his sister was completely healed the next summer, they left the citadel and slayed the Dragon. Dream became a legend, and George was content to be by his side the whole time. Especially when Dream would entangle their fingers, knuckles brushing down George’s cheekbones just like always.

He used to think he wanted a God. Glorious, trembling, divine. He wanted someone who could breathe life into him through touch, someone who could cleave the soil he stood on in two and end the world with a whisper. And he used to think that was what he had found in Dream.

But now, standing by the window and waiting, he realised Dream had made him as human as possible. Because Dream scared the shit out of him. Gods were aloof in their power, were cold and cruel and unforgiving. But as he stood, head against the glass pane, he realised he was just in love with a boy, and it was the most human thing that the boy was in love with him too. And he was fucking terrified for him.

He stood up so quickly he almost tripped over his own boots when he saw five figures appear over the horizon, trapsing their way up the hill to the castle which was now George’s. Pushing himself away from the wall, George threw the massive doors open, sprinting down the stone steps. He took them two at a time, arms flailing as the figures made their way towards him.

Their steps were laboured and heavy, but they were all walking. Sapnap was walking beside a man didn’t recognise, and they were both helping Ponk shuffle up the stairs. Punz was behind the rest of them, cleaning his blade on his sleeve as he lazily strolled. They were all covered in dirt and smeared with blood. But they were all alive.

And then there was his golden boy running up the stairs with the same lopsided grin.

George was no longer taller than him, and Dream wasn’t a scrappy teenager with messy hair and untied shoes anymore. He was broad and tall, scars slitting through his face, and tired, pale eyes. And George loved him. Loved him more than he loved anything, more than he’d thought possible to love anything. But here he was. Here they were. A long way away from their forest.

He practically threw himself at Dream when they met in the middle, throwing his arms around the other man’s neck. Dream laughed, a soft chuckle against George’s neck as he wrapped familiar arms around his waist, George digging his fingers desperately into hair slightly stiff with all the sweat and blood that had been carded through it. He was a full four inches off the ground, eye level with Dream as yellow eyes gleamed back at him, but he didn’t care. He was home.

“You’re alive,” George laughed breathlessly, hands moving all over his face as he pulled back slightly, lightly grazing the cuts and scratches that had been worked into the other’s face. He wanted to ask what had happened, if everyone was alright, if everyone had been spared. But there would be time for that later. This time was for him.

“I promise you I’d come back, didn’t I?” he asked, brows raised. George didn’t even reply, just pulled him to his chest again, burying his face in the crook of Dream’s neck. He didn’t react as the others passed them, even when he heard Sapnap snort in mockery, and mutter something along the lines of, _the rest of us are here too, lovesick assholes_ under his breath.

He just dug his fingers in closer to Dream’s skin, breathing him in. He faltered, blinking up when Dream lowered him, George’s boots meeting the stone ground with a soft thud. “Shit, I’m sorry,” George exclaimed when Dream winced slightly, glaring down at his side. “I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t apologise,” Dream cut him off, his hands still on George. “I just-might need a couple of minutes before I’m back to holding you against walls.” He ended those words with a smirking grin, and it sharply contrasted the blood that had somehow been smeared against his lips, as if Dream had spent the battle ripping out peoples’ throats with his teeth.

“ _Dream_ ,” George hissed, feeling the red already on his face. Their friends were already out of earshot, shouldering open the heavy doors and letting themselves into George’s castle.

Dream gave a huff of laughter, rolling his eyes before he grabbed George’s hand in his own. “Come on Georgie, I want a bath.” George laughed, chest feeling lighter than it had in a while, and let Dream lead him back up the stairs.

He felt familiar eyes skirting across him as they walked and tilted his head up ever so slightly, biting back a smile as he shrugged in question at Dream.

“Your crown’s crooked,” the other man explained, using the hand that wasn’t clutching George’s to reach down and push at the heavy gold that sat on George’s head.

“’S a bit big,” George hummed as they continued up the stairs. Dream pushed his tongue into his cheek as they entered the castle, instantly met with welcoming heat. The doors clicked softly shut behind them, blocking out the battle, the politics, all the horrible things George didn’t want to think about. Because why would he, when he had Dream’s hand in his own?

“Well, we’ll have to get that fixed, won’t we?” Dream laughed, but it was softer than usual. Like it was just for them as they stood in the grand hall. The candlelight was flickering around them, sending dancing shadows across Dream’s askew nose. He’d broken it when they were seventeen, and it had never set properly.

_Dream snarled as his fingers drifted along the bridge of his nose. His eyes met George’s in the mirror from where he was sprawled across their bed, lying on his back, head falling off the edge. His hair fell towards the floor, reaching out for the carpet that Sapnap had bought at a market years ago._

_“It looks like shit,” Dream said bluntly, looking away from George to stare at his own nose again. He watched from the bed as Dream’s hands fell to his side, reaching out and clutching on._

_“No,” George murmured, swinging their hands. “It looks fine.” Dream snorted in disbelief and went to pull his hand away from George’s. He didn’t let go. He held on tighter. “You’re being overdramatic,” he told him before he pulled sharply on Dream’s arm, bringing the taller boy crashing down onto the bed with him._

_Well, it was less of a bed and more of a mattress they’d lain across the floor of their bedroom, but it did. Especially when George threw four blankets on top of it that Dream liked to kick off in his sleep, and an abundance of pillows they never used, electing to lean on each other in the night instead._

_“I’m not dramatic,” Dream huffed as he held himself over George, arms planted on either side of his head. George grinned, reaching up and lightly tracing the bump in Dream’s nose._

_“I like it.”_

_“Liar,” Dream breathed, but he didn’t move or push away when George’s fingers moved to his jaw from his nose, tapping the underside of his chin._

_“I like_ you _,” George said instead, smiling when that pulled an honest laugh from Dream’s lips. He let out a loose breath of air when Dream traced his knuckles down George’s cheekbones before he lightly dropped down onto him. He giggled, letting Dream nestle into his chest, playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck as Dream wrapped arms around his waist._

_“Like you too,” Dream’s voice was muffled through George’s sweater, and he felt the lowness cut through his whole body as he lay there. The sun was streaming in through their window, creamy as it lit up the dust along their windowsill, the insides of their closet and their clean, bare floor._

_He let his eyes flutter shut, fingers whispering through locks of gold as he drifted off to sleep, sculpted beside Dream and his broken nose._

“I thought you wanted a bath?” George asked when he tugged on Dream’s hand and the other man didn’t follow.

“I want to see you on the throne.” He would’ve laughed, if Dream hadn’t looked so serious, yellow eyes set. His brow quirked up.

“What, really?” he asked awkwardly, dropping Dream’s hand to scratch at the back of his neck.

Dream hummed wistfully in response, nodding so gently George would’ve missed it if he wasn’t so attuned to all of Dream’s movements. “Well,” he giggled shyly as he took a step back, closer towards the throne of gold. The throne Dream had given him.

He turned before he walked into the fucking thing, his own reflection blinking back up at him. He really didn’t look like a King. He wasn’t elegant and beautiful like Eret was. The crown on his head looked awkward and cumbersome, flattening down his hair in a weird way. He didn’t have a cape or anything, not even an intimidating look like Technoblade or Dream. He was just wearing a blue sweater that was a bit too big for him and jeans that were torn from wear at the knees.

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he tore his gaze away from himself and turned, dropping down onto the chair. Dream was grinning up at him. He supposed none of those things about himself really mattered as he watched the man in front of him rake both hands through his hair.

“So?” George asked, folding one leg over the other lazily. “What’d you think?”

“I think that you are the most-”

Dream’s words died in George’s ears as he saw the shadow move. He seized up in panic, fingers tightening into fists as he leaned forward. Crimson eyes flashed with an emotion George had never seen on Technoblade before. He didn’t care why the man seemed so angry, didn’t care who had sent him here. He just cared that he was grasping a sword like it was a lifeline, and that he was descending on Dream.

George couldn’t tell if any words of warning were coming out of his mouth as he lurched out of his chair. Couldn’t tell if he was screaming horribly or whispering futilely as he made to scramble down the steps to the floor, arm outstretched as if he could somehow pull Dream towards him with magic.

Saturated yellow eyes flecked with brimstone widened before Dream turned, and everything was happening too slowly, George trapped by the laws of physics when all he wanted to do was drag Dream to safety because Technoblade was going to kill Dream, he was going to slaughter him right here, because he must’ve lost the battle, Dream must have won and-

He paused, blinking in confusion as Technoblade sprinted past Dream, shoving the man to the floor. And then it was Dream’s turn to scream in protest, the sound horrible, like poison to George’s ears. He didn’t even have time to speak, or to flee, before Technoblade was suddenly in front of him.

“Down with the King,” came the low, merciless warning before the sword was cleaving through the air. Those were the only words Technoblade deemed worthy enough of George’s death before the blade split his flesh open.

His knees buckled, eyes streaming with red. His hands drifted up to his throat, and he was aware of the wetness that seemed to be flooding from him. He collapsed to the floor, lying uncomfortably on the steps to the throne, desperately trying to not choke on his own blood.

Everything around him because hazy, and George just cried harder when a familiar face appeared above him, grabbing his hands away from his throat and pressing something against the wound. He was aware of Dream speaking, could see his lips moving even as the other man’s tears were dripping onto his cheeks, but he couldn’t hear what he was saying. Couldn’t hear anything apart from his own terrible heartbeat, ringing viciously around his head.

He noted that other people appeared, but all he could focus on was those familiar yellow eyes, glowing softly as he spoke silent words to George. He tried to nod, tried to do anything to convey to Dream that it was alright, that he was alright. That he was alright with this, because he had had him. Because if he could have saved up time in a jar, all he would have wanted to do was pass it with Dream.

Even though his own fingers were dripping with crimson, even though Dream’s face was streaked with dirt and unknown blood, George reached up. Dream shook his head lightly as George brushed his shaking knuckle down his cheekbone.

He felt someone press something heavier down on his throat, felt himself slowly being claimed by the soft, beautiful and envious darkness. Even though he could not speak, and even though he could not hear, he moved his lips. Dream gripped George’s hand with his own, stronger hand, keeping it against his solid, flushed face.

George let the tips of his fingers breathe in, taste Dream’s freckles one last time.

And he breathed one last shudder, lips forming the three words he’d never seemed to be able to force out of his throat, even though they had always, since he’d first lain eyes on that boy in the forest, been dying to burst out.

And then the darkness claimed him, faces and yellow eyes ebbing away to a calming nothingness.

A forest, trees like spindly paintbrushes pointing up at the grey expanse of nothingness. A sad evening, as branches slipped through his fingers. He imbibed the forest’s cries of belonging. He flew from branch to branch. 


	33. Pull They Stretch Infinitely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Until death itself comes, no calamity need be feared."

“Where is he?” Tommy screamed, voice raw and pained because fuck, everything hurt so much, but he managed to push the words out, throat constricting as he grabbed onto Phil’s shirt, fist full of torn fabric. “ _Where is he_?”

“I left him there.” Words echoed around the barren, completely destroyed shitshow they stood on.

“What?” He was still yelling, face scrunching up in confusion. “How could-what, I- _why_? Why would you leave him to die?” A kind face, clearly trying to hide the pain he too was feeling, blinked down at Tommy. Unease unfurled horribly in his chest, and Tommy let go of Phil with a shaky breath, taking a step back. He stood and waited for the final blow.

Phil delivered it swiftly.

“He was already dead. He told me to kill him.”

It took him a moment to realise the sobbing cry of raw pain wasn’t coming from him. He watched blankly, feeling all of that fucking fire in his chest fizzle out and die, as Phil turned, grabbing Niki before she crumpled to the ground, like a petal that had been picked too early and tossed to the wind and decaying soil. “Say it isn’t real,” she begged, voice sounding small and terrified. “Not Will.” She wasn’t looking at Phil as he held her up, but out to the ruined cliffside where the room had been, where they all knew now what must’ve happened.

Tommy took another step back, digging his hands into his hair so tightly he thought he might tug his head from his shoulders. He wondered if that would even be so bad.

Niki gasped, sobs pausing as she turned to face Phil with widened eyes. “He knew,” she breathed, a realisation dawning over her face. “He must’ve seen it. All that shit with that story…” Phil just blinked down at her in confusion before she pushed herself out of her hold, running towards the brink of the destruction, face wild and feral.

“Technoblade!” she screamed, voice painted in grief and agony. She was like a painting, standing at the edge of their world as her hair tumbled out behind her, a painting of dark agony, twisted and beautiful. Tommy just watched as she screamed out for the man who had betrayed them, fingers curling into her palms.

“Where is he?” she snarled, turning over her shoulder to glare at Phil. Tommy joined her, glancing up at the older man with uncertainty.

“He’s gone,” Phil said simply, jaw tightening as Niki let a fist fall onto his chest. It didn’t look like it hurt, apart from the way his green eyes seemed to break slightly as she kept pounding on him. “Tell me where he went. Tell me where he went!” she kept yelling, demanding, over and over, like a promise, or a curse, or a prayer. “This is _his_ fault; you have to tell me where-”

“I won’t,” Phil cut her off, lightly grabbing onto her wrists before she went to strike him again. She looked up at him, pained as the wind swiped across her face. Tommy blinked down at his own shoes, unable to look upon her face anymore, unable to see the throbbing pain painted clearly on her features. Instead, he focused on the dirt swiped across his boots, the past that he hadn’t realised had been beautiful, had spent so much time trying to change, smeared across the sole of his shoes. He had wanted nothing more than to get out of those fucking caves, to have L’Manberg back. Now, with Wilbur dead and Technoblade gone with the wind, he thought he’d maybe give up anything to have them back. He wanted to go to sleep, wanted the living nightmares to drag him back into the ravine, shove him down into that bed with the scratchy orange blanket and have him never wake.

“Then you are a traitor. If you choose to protect him,” Niki said, and her voice was so cold, so unfamiliar, that when Tommy looked up again, he barely even recognised the woman in front of him. Phil’s throat bobbed as he lightly shook his head down at her. “You are a _traitor_ ,” she said again, beautifully sharp eyes narrowed. “Just like that murderous brother of yours. Blood for the Blood God, _right_?”

It was horrible, and cruel, the feeling that wracked itself through Tommy. To be standing there, left alone, while Wilbur was gone. While he was somewhere unreachable.

“Niki,” a voice dripping in warning sounded from behind them. Tommy turned, and he almost cried out when he saw Tubbo. He was standing tall, limping slightly, bloodshot eyes glaring at Niki. His green shirt was torn, practically shredded from the wither attack. But he was holding his head high, the lowering sun illuminating each burn scar that decorated his face in all their glory.

“He was too far gone. You know that just as well as I do. And I love him too, will always love him. But he wasn’t the man we loved, not at the end. Wilbur knew that himself.” Tommy felt something choke at his throat, and he quickly swiped at his eyes with his palms before the tears could even escape.

“What happened to Wilbur wasn’t Phil’s fault,” Tubbo said softly, coming up beside Tommy. He didn’t speak, didn’t want to, didn’t have the strength to get involved. And even though it was embarrassing, how empty he felt, how destroyed and worthless he was without Will, like all his bones were begging him to bury them down in the soil, he grabbed onto Tubbo’s hand.

And because he knew Tommy better than anyone else did, because he could stitch Tommy from the inside out back together again perfectly whenever he fell apart, Tubbo didn’t say anything. Just threaded their fingers together and squeezed.

“He killed him,” Niki breathed, voice dangerously quiet. “He killed Will.”

“He came here to help us,” Tubbo protested, sounding years older than the seventeen-year-old he was. Phil didn’t speak, just kept a hold of Niki’s steel gaze with his own.

“We didn’t ask for his help,” she hissed.

“I did.” Niki’s head snapped towards Tommy, who blankly blinked back at her. He understood why she was angry, understood why she wanted to lash out at Phil. He had loved Wilbur too. But he was gone now. And hating each other wouldn’t bring him back, no matter how viciously they started to hate each other. No matter how hard they hated themselves.

_The letter felt heavy in his hands. Felt dangerous as he quickly scrawled Phil’s name and address. The same address he’d written to months ago, when he’d thought Technoblade would be the one to save them. But Techno was content with letting Wilbur slip further and further away, concentrating on the glorious battle of it all._

_Tommy just wanted his big brother back. And the only way he could think to do that was by begging Will’s older brother for help._

_He couldn’t let Will slip through his fingers. Not before he tried every option._

_Tommy snuck over Wilbur sleeping on the floor, head buried tightly into the crook of his elbow. He also tried his best to not trip over Technoblade who had fallen asleep sitting upright beside Will, legs sprawled out all over across the floor. When they were like this, statues rather than soldiers with moving muscles and cruel whispers, Tommy could tolerate them a lot easier._

_He grabbed his coat, clutching the letter close to his chest as he dived out of the caves. He returned before the sun rose, this time empty handed and feeling a bit lighter than he had when he left._

Niki furrowed her brows together before she snatched her wrists away from Phil’s grasp, running her own fingers across the scars that circled them like bracelets. She didn’t look at any of them before she walked away. Where she was going, Tommy didn’t know.

“She’s just upset,” Tubbo said cautiously as Phil sighed, rubbing a tired hand down his face. The older man had only been here for a grand total of a day, and he was already suffering from the shitty side effects of this craphole. “She didn’t mean it.”

Tommy didn’t have the energy to point out that they couldn’t regulate what Niki meant and what she didn’t. She was free to hate them all. Tommy probably would too if he wasn’t so tired of it all.

“I know,” Phil said, attempting a smile. “I get it. Her and Will had been friends for a decade. She loved him. I did too.”

Tommy had forgotten how close Niki and Will had been. Had been too caught up in the war and his own fucking problems about Wilbur to remember that there were other people who cared about him. But Niki had always made sure Wilbur ate dinner, setting a bowl in front of him. Had always thrown a blanket over him when he fell asleep at the table. Had always been careful when cleaning his injuries, a hand on his cheek when he winced.

“I looked, but I couldn’t find his…” Tubbo trailed off, struggling on the last word. Corpse. Carcass. A shell, broken and bloodied. Unrecognisable. Sick twisted at Tommy’s stomach as he looked out to the new lake that was L’Manberg.

He’d seen dead bodies before. Had seen Schlatt drop dead mere hours before. Had been able to look upon him, his face softened in the face of death, all of the cruelty faded. Bile seeping through his skin, Tommy imagined what Wilbur would look like dead. What the smile would be like when it wasn’t smiling anymore. What his brown, intelligent eyes would look like empty and cold. What his skin would feel like. Like paper maybe, or like moss.

“Techno took it.” Tommy blinked up at that. Phil was biting his bottom lip, looking pained as he shook his head. Water was lining his eyes. Tommy couldn’t find it in himself to say anything.

“I guess he wants to bury him,” Phil continued, ignoring Tubbo’s parted lips and Tommy’s trembling legs. “But I’m sure if I ask him to bring Will back, we can all bury him together. As a family.”

Tommy scoffed, dropping Tubbo’s hand so he could shove his own in his pockets, skin other than his feeling like a hissing flame. Tubbo frowned up at him, and the tears staining his face was too much for Tommy. It was all too much, and yet nothing at the same time. He should feel more than this, more than this growing emptiness that was breathing, sobbing through his blood. He took a step backwards, shrugging towards Phil.

“Technoblade can keep it. The asshole can do what he wants with it.”

“ _Tommy_ ,” Phil tried, reaching out tentatively. Tommy shook his head.

“We’re not a family, Phil. We never were.”

“Family isn’t blood,” Phil said, and it sounded so thought-out, so poetic, that Tommy imagined a younger Phil saying exactly the same fucking thing to two other boys, before they turned into monsters. Before they turned into anarchists, hearts set on destroying everything beautiful and good. “It’s who you’d bleed for.”

“Technoblade tried to kill me!” Tommy screamed, a sudden fit of rage squeezing at his heart. He remembered lying on the ground, metal pressed tightly against his throat, ready for the skin to be split, ready to die at the hand of the man he had trusted with his life. “Wilbur tried to kill all of us. Tried to destroy the one thing we sacrificed everything for.” He shook his head as he took another step back, exhaling shakily.

“Brothers don’t try to kill brothers,” he breathed before he turned on his heels, wrapping his arms around himself to combat the unforgiving wind that spat at him. He walked, soft grass under his boots turning to wooden planks leading him towards an old home. He paused on the broken and charred path when a branch almost scratched his eye out.

Scowling, he made to step out of the way, when his eyes fell on a piece of scrunched up fabric. He bent down, picking it up gingerly. A sob caught in his throat when it unfolded out in his hands, blowing in the wind. Will’s coat. Free of blood, unlike every single piece of clothing Tommy was currently wearing. Not free of dirt or grime, but they had been living underground for months so that was expected. One of the buttons was missing, the other's sewn on precariously. 

Tommy let the stout tears that were threatening to eat him up, swallow him whole, roll down his cheeks as he shouldered on Will’s coat. It smelled like him, like lavender and oak and the pages of old, worn books that Tommy had refused to read when Wilbur offered. Like home and like hatred and like regret. 

It was a bit too big, but Tommy couldn’t, wouldn’t, take it off. So, he continued up his path, legs moving from muscle memory from all the times he had walked the same way as he buried his body in the coat. He paused when he came to his old home, dropping down on the bench. He wasn’t surprised when someone sat down beside him, bringing their knees to their chest as they looked at him.

“So, shit looks rough,” Tommy sighed, leaning back in his spot as his head tilted to meet Tubbo’s eyes.

“This is definitely a new low for us,” Tubbo nodded in agreement, a soft hum of amusement following.

“We’ll get through it though,” Tommy murmured, glancing down at his hand as Tubbo looked out towards the rolling landscape in front of them, untouched and breathing. A wave of nausea coursed through him every time he remembered what had happened to his hand, green eyes glinting in his mind, ceramic smashing in his ears. He hated the way his words came out more of a question than an assertion. But he couldn’t stop the soft smile on his face as Tubbo nodded eagerly, dropping his head onto Tommy’s shoulder.

“’Course we will, man. Together.”

“Together,” Tommy repeated, the word feeling more bitter in his voice than it had in Tubbo’s.

They didn’t say anything more, didn’t really need to, as the sun fell in the horizon. It drifted through the sky quickly, as if it too was tired. As if it had seen enough of today, as if the earth was begging to be hidden by the dark sky, the destruction and death brushed away by a cascade of stars.

The grief tearing through him, tugging at his bones, at his throat, at the pale skin of his wrists and at the underside of his legs, were all screaming the same thing. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen.

But the dying sun just caught his hand, wrapped itself around his throat and smiled down at him; a cruel, beautiful, burning thing. And the sun shook its head at him and said, but this is how it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last proper chapter boys thank you so fucking much for the insane support and feedback <3


	34. Gave Your Body to the Lonely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Build your opponent a golden bridge to retreat across."

“The fuck?” Was the first thing to come from Schlatt’s lips as he looked down at what looked like his own fucking body. But there was no way that was possible, because he was here, and that thing was…

Well shit. Schlatt kissed his teeth as he looked down at himself, and grey translucent skin shone back up at him. Fuck. His eyes flicked from himself to well, himself. He tugged at the blue wool sweater he was wearing, before he moved towards the him that was lying on a table. He didn’t realise how bad it had gotten. He traced the cold, stiff skin of his corpse, nose crinkling at the deep purple colour the veins were. He didn’t realise how fucking ugly he’d gotten either.

Well, fuck all he could do about it now. Since he was dead, he guessed. Flicking his own chin, he watched as his hand almost went right through the corpse. Almost. There was somehow still something corporal about him even after death. He wondered how he could get rid of it. If he was going to die, he wanted to fucking die then, not travel the world in this crappy half living ghost body. And this jumper was really fucking itchy.

He flinched when the door to the room he was in slammed open. He moved away from the corpse, as if he was a toddler, about to be caught stealing from the cookie jar. We’ll he didn’t even really move, just kind of floated backwards as Quackity entered. The shorter man looked like he wanted to storm in, brows knotted together, but he paused when his eyes fell on the dead thing on the table, face crumpling into something worse than anger.

“Well, it’s fucking over. Your reign of terror is fucking over,” Quackity snarled under his breath, and Schlatt watched, silent and still, as the younger man walked completely past him, almost brushing against his arm, towards the table. “Night bastard,” he murmured, and Schlatt blinked as Quackity shut the dead thing’s eyes over, patting its shoulder in what he could pretend was affection.

When he went to leave, fingers grazing the bandages wrapped tightly around his shoulder, Schlatt followed. He didn’t know where the fuck he was going to go, but he sure as hell wasn’t staying there, with his rotting body.

He considered following Quackity, who was wandering towards the city centre, steps heavy and fading. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he watched him join Niki and Fundy, talking but too far away for him to hear anything. Traitors. A spark of anger shot through him, before he remembered that he was dead, and really, feeling anything would be pointless.

So instead of chasing after his old friend like a lost puppy kicked to the ground, he went on a walk. Well, a hover, since he couldn’t feel the ground beneath his fading shoes. They were the same crappy shoes he’d worn when he was about sixteen. Same fraying laces and scuffed edges and everything.

He walked through the forests, not having to worry about tripping over upturned roots or awkward branches out to scratch him. He simply wandered, walking beside the streams and watching as salmon swam under the cold waves, like blots of coloured ink against a plain canvas. He walked up hills, treading around the flowers that pushed up through the dried dirt. He didn’t know the names of any of them, but he liked the colours. Soft purples and blues that littered the damp, fading green land around him. He walked for hours, kicking up sand with his toes when he came across a desert, the grains flying in all directions.

For being the President, he’d never really actually looked around the lands he’d fought so hard to keep.

He circled back round, and found himself at a docks. He passed the wooden houses with their flowerboxes and little checked curtains. He leapt over the fences around the pier, walking right to the very edge. He’d come from a town like this, with piers that stood above the crashing sea, untouchable. With rocky beaches that housed crabs and seagulls. He didn’t realise he had missed his home until he was stood there, at the docks he had owned but never even visited. And he realised, dropping his crappy translucent hand into the sea, that he’d never really be able to go back.

He had been focused on bringing chaos, on reaping destruction. And while he had succeeded, he had let himself die with it. Without even realising.

Waves lapping at his drab fingers, he smiled. No reflection blinked up at him, but he was alright with that. He wondered what would happen if he let himself just fall in, let the water swallow him whole, or drag him down so far, he could no longer see, when an explosion wracked through his whole body. Wincing, he pulled his fingers back from the sea.

He stood, straightening his back, and wiped his damp hand on the blue sweater. It was only then did he feel the small hole in his chest. Panic swept through him as he scrambled, peering down inside the sweater. His eyes widened when he saw a cracked, caved in hole where his heart should’ve been. But then he remembered that he was dead, and that nothing could hurt him now. Probably. Not even the heart he’d poisoned.

Schlatt had always thought everyone was born with a gaping hole in their chest anyway. You just normally couldn’t see it.

Vaguely interested, he drifted towards where the sound had come from, pausing on top of a hill as he watched the scene unfold. He watched as the wither screamed through the city, tearing at everything in its path, followed by Dream, whooping and hollering like a child on their birthday. He watched as Technoblade fought alongside him until there was no salvageable land standing. He watched as Niki screamed at Phil, watched as Tommy spat with anger before he disappeared over the horizon, Tubbo chasing after him desperately.

Schlatt stayed until after everyone was gone. Well, almost everyone.

His eyes drifted to someone sitting beneath a tree, scrunched up over themselves, shoulders shaking. And since he had nothing else to do, he let himself wander over. He realised too late who it was, or rather who it wasn’t.

Wilbur looked up as soon as Schlatt came near him, eyes wide and terrified. They weren’t brown anymore, not the colour of fresh honey when the light hit it perfectly. They were pale, watered-down, as if all of the colour and life had been stripped away. Schlatt supposed that’s exactly what had happened. A shadow, an imprint of the man who had lived. A wilting wildflower. Cracked and torn and shrivelling up.

He was in a sweater like Schlatt’s, but his was yellow, the brightness stark against his own dreary skin. Blinking, Schlatt realised they were the sweaters they had worn when they were teenagers, back in their crappy little seaside town.

“Schlatt?” Wilbur asked, and his voice didn’t sound like his own at all. He sounded years younger, like he had before he’d even hit fucking puberty. He also sounded scared, and like he might cry. Schlatt fucking hoped he wouldn’t cry. That would be uncomfortable for the both of them.

“Hey, lover boy,” Schlatt murmured, dropping down onto the grass beside Wilbur. He stretched out his legs, knocking his ankles together as Wilbur stared at him.

“Schlatt?” he asked again, shuffling closer. He hummed noncommittally in response as he threaded his fingers through the grass, sliding down onto his back so he could look up at the sunset. “Are we-I think…we’re dead.” He didn’t even say it like a question, more like a dreaded realisation, but Schlatt nodded all the same.

“I… do you remember anything?” He perked up a bit at that question, raising a brow at the other man as he pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“Do _you_?” he frowned, pushing his tongue into his cheek when Wilbur shook his head tentatively, fingers gripping onto his hair as his jaw wobbled.

“Hey,” Schlatt said softly, uncomfortable at how distressed and young Will looked. A sharp contrast to the cold, slightly unhinged man he’d spoken to hours ago, who had tried to assassinate him. “You remember my name, right?”

Wilbur let Schlatt guide his fingers away from his head but kept his tearing up eyes furiously trained on the grass beneath him. “I can remember bits. I can’t…I can’t remember these,” he said, voice lighter as he gestured to Schlatt’s mutton chops. He hummed in amusement, slowly catching onto what might’ve happened to Will in death. If only he could’ve been so fucking lucky.

“I don’t remember what happened here,” Wilbur added, voice breaking as he pointed at the ruin that lay before them. Schlatt nodded, licking his bottom lip as he tried to figure out what to say. He should probably just explain. Should probably just tell Wilbur he went off the fucking rails and tried to murder his entire family, and also an entire population of a city. Should tell him how he had emotionally manipulated Tommy, used Technoblade’s ideals to his advantage, and abandoned the rest of his friends to suffer under Schlatt’s own hand.

He didn’t say any of that.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he shrugged instead, dropping back onto the grass. Wilbur blinked down at him. “Doesn’t seem important. You remember all the good parts anyway, right?”

Wilbur nodded, but he seemed unsure as he wrung his hands. “So, who gives a fuck about the rest of it? Was all shitty and angsty and painful anyway.”

He had tried to drink it all away. Had tried to bury all his own problems under the one thing that made him feel alive, that helped him forget. And here Wilbur was, a brand-new man in death. All his crappy memories successfully wiped away without even a drop of whiskey.

“I guess,” Wilbur breathed, biting his bottom lip as he tipped his head up to the sky. They sat there in companionable silence as they watched the sun fall, and the moon conduct the stars across the darkness above them. He’d almost forgotten, what it was like to just sit with a friend.

“So, what happens now?” Wilbur asked, head cocking down at Schlatt.

“I guess that’s up to each of us,” Schlatt murmured, feeling a wave of calmness wash over him as he pushed himself up to his feet. He reached a hand down, grinning when Wilbur took it, and he helped him up too. He’d forgotten how tall the fucker was.

“Do you know what you’re going to do?” Will asked, brushing his hair from his face. Schlatt nodded, trying to count all the stars in the sky with the time he had left.

“I think it’s my time to go now.” Will nodded in response. They kept their eyes towards the moon, a seed settled in the great blanket of nothingness. “What about you?”

“I can’t leave them. Not yet,” Wilbur breathed, voice lighter than it had ever been. Schlatt thought that he’d quite like to hear him sing, just one last time. But he didn’t ask for that. Instead, he just dropped his hand onto Wilbur’s shoulder and squeezed it in what he hoped was comfort.

He didn’t let go until it came for him, softly tugging on his hand with a coolness that felt oddly similar to the sea. And with one last smile towards Wilbur, and one last look at the moon that hung in the sky, Schlatt let himself be led away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well boys this is it 
> 
> I just wanna say thank you s o much for all the support I genuinely cannot express how much it all means to me :)
> 
> I am definitely going to make a third part of this series focusing on the exile arc, don't you worry, but I am probably going to take a little break because of exams and real life and shit lmao. In the meantime I'm going to write a story about the dt's backstory for this series and maybe some other backstories for Tommy and Tubbo and other characters because I think we all need some comfort and fluff after this pure angst fest so I hope to see some of you again when those are published 
> 
> (also even though im taking a break before plunging right into another full on series - also want to see where the story goes from the streams - leave some requests below if you want because I adore writing and if I see some cool ideas I might just write them!) :D
> 
> again, thank you so much readers for all the kudos and comments, I never thought this series would get to where it was when I decided to write a one shot about Tommy months ago, so here is my sincere thank you and gratitude <3
> 
> hope everyone has a great new year

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments make me :)


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